


In Another Castle

by Verati404



Category: Super Mario & Related Fandoms, Super Smash Brothers, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Apocalypse, F/M, I reveal whatever you need to know, M/M, Team I-Hate-You-But-I-Hate-This-Other-Problem-More, Team Villain, Time Travel, Worldbuilding, also bloodthirsty frustrated demons, obscure slow-burn ship, you don't have to know SSB lore btw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-03-23 08:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 53,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3761545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verati404/pseuds/Verati404
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ganondorf is betrayed by an old associate following the Subspace fiasco, Ganondorf makes a hard, circumstantial decision with his wish on the Triforce and is thrown eight days in the past to correct horrible mistakes.  But will he succeed in this strange role as hero, unable to rule something that doesn't exist, or should he have left it to the professionals?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Peculiar Architecture

**Author's Note:**

> **About me:** My goal is to post once a week on Fridays (though Thursday is common). However, my life is not always the most predictable, so it may be pushed back to once a month. I will warn you if this has to happen. I also have another fic on a different site and a blog I have to keep up with.
> 
>  **About the story:** Go play the Subspace Emissary adventure mode on SSB Brawl if you haven't. I only say this because I love it, not because you need it to understand the story. The silent, visual storytelling is worth it (and is how I can kick ass with every character). I picked and plucked what I wanted from various popular Nintendo games in order to weave my mythos together while trying not to actively contradict anything. If you've played more Mario than I have (likely), Star Fox (yeah, right), or Kid Icarus (definitely) and you see issues, totes tell me. There's a continuity demon in my head that screams in my brain constantly, and he would be very upset that we missed details during our research.
> 
>  **About the characters:** I unapologetically use the character design of Ganondorf from Hyrule Warriors and I am not the least bit sorry. And I'll explain in-story why Link and Zelda have bits of their every self.

Teleporting felt a lot like freefalling to death in a dream—that terrifying, weightless sensation of adrenaline-pumped freedom, ending in a few seconds of disorientation and relief as the brain realized it wasn’t actually going to paint the ground in an amateur Jackson Pollock impression. From the moment Ganondorf appeared at Bowser’s gate, that dizzying rush was followed by an even more pungent one of inhaled ash and sulfur, and the heat wave of noxious fumes that even Gerudo did not normally have to endure made him lift an arm to cover his cough. _Eugh_ , it was like walking into a furnace.

Despite the air, the Demon King regained his poise and strode to the great double doors of the castle. The koopa-themed monstrosity was littered with Bowser’s own vanity: the tops of the spires, the front gate, and the storm drains were all in likeness of his gaping mouth, and it all stood as one tacky monolith on an island above a lake of lava. Ganondorf had time to wonder disdainfully if such childish displays of power actually frightened anyone, but he remembered what small creatures toadstools and koopas were; it was probably enough to do the job and then some. He lifted one of the round, golden knockers and banged it twice against the door.

No response.

He walked in. He met no resistance at the entrance, no servant. There weren’t even any lights but what dim, hellish glow shone into the great hall from the lava moat outside. Warning bells immediately started going off in Ganondorf’s head. He glanced at the obnoxious Doric columns and had half a moment of disapproving incredulity at their koopa-claw bases as his mind screamed _TRAP_ at an animalistic pitch he couldn’t ignore, half a second before the front doors slammed shut behind him.

In another castle, hundreds of miles and a lifetime ago, he had pulled this same trick on an unsuspecting Hero of Time. What right did Bowser have to use the same tired trope against him?

“Rragh!” he screamed into the sudden darkness. That lizard had two seconds to respond or this place was getting leveled. What kind of stunt was this? Who did he think he was? His voice echoed through the empty hall until it faded into nothingness. His fists burst into red flame to the sound of disembodied laughter drifting through foul-smelling halls.

“Ganondorf,” cracked Bowser’s voice. The name was heard as a series of raspy animal grunts, but Ganondorf was fluent in both Dodongo and Koopa, which came from the same language root. “I’m glad you got my invitation.”

Ganondorf surveyed the room impatiently. The walls were solid, windows were nonexistent (and wouldn’t have been much help, considering they’d have dropped over the fire lake). Still, nothing seemed outright ready to eat him; he was alone. Dismissiveness crept into his tone as well as his expression. “You don’t get to play these games with me, boy. I put you where you are,” he replied in Koopa, “and I can destroy you. Stop this now and I may spare your life when I get up there.”

“Oh-ho-ho, _if_ you can get up here.” Bowser chuckled, and that irked Ganondorf more than the rest of the events of the evening combined: King Koopa was about to get his horns ripped off. “I’m not taking orders from you anymore, you see. After that Subspace mess you put us through, no one wants to listen to you anymore.”

“Is that right,” Ganondorf asked evenly. He smirked and walked toward the center of the hall, arms spread theatrically to the darkness. “And by ‘we,’ you mean you. What makes you think I won’t just blink up to your tower and replace you and Kamek with more competent lieutenants, _King Koopa?_ ”

“I have a secret weapon. You don’t control me anymore. I’ve decided to bring in a new era.”

“And what era is that, you dumb turtle?” Ganondorf snapped back, his accent getting tainted by his Gerudean in his rising impatience. “Is it the one where I let Demise make a crater out of Mushroom Kingdom? Tell me your game. What do you want?”

“Don’t expect your divinity to help you.”

“ _Tell me!_ ” Ganondorf roared. Bowser’s last words sank into Ganondorf’s skin with an unsettling chill. Bowser was not some masterminded villain brave enough to take on someone he knew was bigger. Bowser preyed on the weak, nothing more than a sandbox bully kicking sand in plumbers’ eyes. This odd plot against the Demon King was unexpected, not only because of his aforementioned lack of ambition, but because Ganondorf knew he lacked that sort of creativity, which means that someone else was putting him up to this. This wildcard was using Ganondorf’s own forces against him, and they knew enough to have a plan for his magic.

Dealing with Bowser was nowhere near the top of his priority list, then. As soon as the koopa was out of the way, he would have whoever this challenger was made out as an example: no one used what was his. No one.

But who would know about his connection to Demise?

Ganondorf had to put that thought aside. Almost as soon as his shriek finished bouncing off the cloud-grey stone, the ground began to shake, and he braced himself for the deafening rumble of gears as the traps set usually for the plumbers clicked heavily into place throughout the lower floors. He was being treated as some luck-cheating, plot-armored dimwit. This was no doubt Bowser’s own part of the plan. It had the markings of him all over it.

What Bowser and this new Wildcard failed to realize, Ganondorf thought to himself, was that Demise wasn’t some sort of separate entity he could be separated from. Demise was Ganondorf: the Demon King was so named because his soul was that of a dark god, born into mortal form the way the princess of Hyrule was born as the incarnated goddess Hylia. Yes, their powers were dampened: physicality by nature had its limits, and Ganondorf was all-too aware of his own when it came to fighting Zelda and her chosen Pawn of Time; but when it came down to it, nothing short of holy light itself could stop him. Maybe the Wildcard was misinformed by Bowser, or was somehow cobbling together what information they had with some counter-magic they’d gotten hold of, hoping it would be enough to stay him.

Well, before he ended their life, Ganondorf would have to make sure the Wildcard knew exactly how misinformed they had been.

The Demon King exhaled and pooled his will to him. Energy rippled in through his limbs, ecstasy building in his chest from a rush of mystic power that always made him feel nigh invincible and dreamlike, pushing dark, wicked laughter from his lungs and up towards the ceiling. His magic was sloppy; his power spilled over in all directions rather than fired with arrow-like precision, but he’d long ago gotten strong enough that his aim hardly mattered. He focused enough on his destination to see Bowser’s top-floor apartments clearly, and willed himself to teleport.

Nothing happened. There was no feeling of freefall, no sense of vertigo as reality rushed up to meet him while his human brain was trapped in the last few seconds it remembered. Ganondorf opened his eyes to the same empty, dim entrance hall he just tried to leave; there was something holy that had stopped him. Someone knew their lore after all.

This was troublesome. Ganondorf opened his fists and let most of his energy seep back out into the air where it hung around him, perceived like static to anyone unable to see the subtle currents of violet and red dark magic he’d called. He would actually have to run the course as Bowser’s nemesis, an absurd task for a distinguished player like himself. If that’s how it had to be, Bowser would pay for every inconvenience he caused him.

Two hours saw no improvement in Ganondorf’s mood.

The Demon King kicked the door open rather than open it with his hands. Wood splintered, iron bent, and splinters flew into a room full of Boos that he did not have time for.

He’d just left a room with a giant, repetitive guillotine in his path. He’d thrown monsters into lava pits, floated over spikes, and rained down dark magic on fleeing minions he had no intention of letting escape. Everything in his wake was broken and dead, and if he could set it on fire, it was that, too.

This was what it meant to irritate the Demon King. There would be no cleanup crew with a strong enough stomach to handle the job. He’d had enough of this. 

The Boos floated aimlessly throughout the room, their numbers the only reason he hesitated at all. If he bothered to fight all of them now, he would let himself get fatigued before he got up to Bowser’s level (which was probably what he wanted). Well, he had a better idea.

The sword across his back glowed red, surrounded by wispy, black smoke. He felt its desire claw at a small corner of his mind. It desired blood. It desired to serve its master. Ganondorf pulled it from its sheath and planted it into the floor.

“Ghirahim, wake up for me.”

The sword became a cloud of diamonds, which then became a man. Ghirahim stood in pristine, cut-out white tights and a cape that dazzled almost as much as his diva smile.

“Master, you called!”

“Clear me a path,” Ganondorf ordered. The sweltering heat was finally making an impression on the Gerudo-born thief; sweat shone on dark arms and glistened over thick, red eyebrows. He wasn’t tired yet, but tired was not a thing he could afford to become.

Ghirahim bowed and moved faster than Ganondorf’s gaze could follow. The sword spirit was a blur as it cut a path through the ghosts so that Ganondorf could walk, unhindered, to the other side without having to lift a finger.

Ganondorf kicked the next door and reached out his hand; Ghirahim flew back to Ganondorf, who used the Zanbato-like black sword to smash his way through whatever remained of the poor door. He was done, finished with playing this game. He knew there had to be a service tunnel around there, somewhere.

And sure enough, there was. Hidden in the ceiling among the timed anvils and swinging logs, there were minions who had to make sure they were well oiled and working. Ganondorf released Ghirahim and used all his power to rip one of the metal stalks from the ceiling as it came down, levitated himself up to the service shaft, and let himself loose. What little escaped the Demon King did not escape Ghirahim. He was sheathed as Ganondorf prowled up the service tunnels and ventilation ducts, occasionally blasting rats and koopas to all walls at once with magic in his impatience until he was standing outside of Bowser’s chambers.

He paused at the sound of conversation: “Of _course_ I sent them away.”

Wait, was that the Wildcard? He knew that voice—a sweet, feminine soprano he had never given much thought to. She was outside of his plans and meaningless to the scope of his goals, and so escaped his notice; but he had heard her name before, and knew she was acquainted with a princess that he _was_ well familiar with. What was _she_ doing here?

Bowser rumbled something too low for Ganondorf to pick up, but it didn’t sound pleasant. Princess Peach sounded offended. “They’re _your_ lieutenants, yes. But they’re _our_ children. I won’t let them get hurt when the castle can just whittle down that magic-slinging maniac before he ever gets up here.” A pause from her. “No, I don’t think they need to know. Zelda will just want them back in their places where they’re vulnerable to any ill-wishing scoundrel. At least this way we can ensure everything goes well. I doubt anyone will know it was me.”

Bowser finally spoke loud enough for Ganondorf to hear: “I hope this works, my princess.” There was a rustle of cloth.

Ganondorf sighed inwardly—of _course_ they were in this together. As briefly amusing as imagining Mario’s face might’ve been, Ganondorf was coming to other conclusions. What exactly had Peach stolen? Given the context of the evening, the likeliest answer was the worst one. She was endangering their entire existence and couldn’t possibly have known it. The Triforce did not belong here.

Ganondorf slammed his sword through the door and kicked the rest of it out of the way as he pointed his weapon at Bowser. “Give it back!” he roared.

The Sacred Relic hung like a child’s plastic mobile over King Koopa’s bed, not even a barrier around to protect it. It bathed the room in rich, golden light. The only part of Ganondorf’s heart that still existed leapt at the sight of it: how dare they. Hyrule and Termina and all the lands around them must already be starting to crumble in its absence while these two idled under it. Also worth noting, no one had spent more of their lives trying to claim it than Ganondorf. Its rightful place was with him, and not in the Mushroom Kingdom.

Princess Peach was in her nightgown. Bowser looked stunned. The princess threw off her blanket and made a mad grab for it.

“Don’t!” Ganondorf cried. The unusual note of panic in his voice made Peach pause right before she touched it. “Princess, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Take one more step and I’ll wish you from existence,” Princess Peach declared in her little sing-song voice. It had an edge of malice to it. “Leave us. Now.”

“Your own ignorance will wish everyone out with me,” Ganondorf snapped. “You will be monarchs over a void of ash. Is that what you want?” He saw Peach’s brows furrow in confusion and he saw his chance. “You don’t understand how the Triforce works, do you.”

“Enlighten me, Demon King.”

Ganondorf exhaled slowly. Peach’s hand continued to hover near the Triforce, and he could not turn his gaze from what could be the final end of them all. He could hear his own pulse in his ears. “Princess, you know the Sacred Relic was created by the three golden goddesses that gave shape to my part of the world. Din, Nayru, and Farore were only three of the gods that made our universe what it is today. They worked in collusion with other divine spirits, and as each set of spirits ascended back to the heavens, they left behind the Parting Relics.” He nodded to the Triforce. “Without it over its native soil, the Hylian lands will begin to disintegrate.”

“Why should that matter to you?” Princess Peach asked. “Suppose I believe you, why would you care?”

“Because I want to rule it, not destroy it.”

“Makes sense,” muttered Bowser from her side.

Princess Peach narrowed her eyes at Ganondorf. She didn’t have to believe him entirely; the Demon King was never to be trusted wholeheartedly, but there could be a grain of truth in what he said. If so, she’d just put Zelda in danger. One of the closest friends Peach had would be reaping the consequences of her actions.

“You expect me to just give this to you?” Peach demanded.

Ganondorf lowered himself to his knees and slowly slid his sword across the floor obsequiously. “I expect it to be returned to Hyrule,” he said carefully. “What happens to it as long as it’s within Hylian borders means less than taking it at this very moment.”

Peach looked worried. “I could return it later.”

“It doesn’t work that way!” Ganondorf insisted. He held his hands aloft to prove he wasn’t armed. “Princess, you are destroying the _fabric of existence_. The Triforce does not belong to you. If you would just ask where the Parting Relic of the Mushroom Kingdom is, I would gladly send you on your way.”

“Lies. You’re a liar, Ganondorf,” Peach declared. “I bet you’ve made this all up. You just want it for yourself.”

There was a flash of light; in the heat of the moment, no one was watching the sword Ganondorf had slid across the floor. Ghirahim removed Peach’s hand closest to the Triforce, and as she fell, sobbing, clutching her ruined arm, Bowser grabbed Ghirahim’s face and threw him wholesale into the wall behind Ganondorf.

Ganondorf summoned his sword back to his hand as the dragon turtle lunged at his face.

Claws blocked sword. Bowser swiped at Ganondorf’s face and forced him back a step. Ganondorf realized how badly he miscalculated his actions as Bowser stomped after him, breathing fire. The Demon King ducked right to avoid the flames and felt the brush of intense heat on the back of his calf.

“Bowser!”

Bowser roared in response. Ganondorf’s eyes darted quickly to Peach and saw thankfully that she was alive, crying over the words of her own healing spell. Maybe there was some salvaging this, after all.

A tail swipe nearly cleared Ganondorf off his feet and forced him toward a window. Bowser looked murderous, ready to breathe fire once again. His princess was injured, and he was going to destroy the one who’d done it, regardless of the consequences.

Okay, maybe there was no salvaging this.

Ganondorf threw Ghirahim at Peach. “Hostage!” he cried, and stepped inside Bowser’s reach. His training in swordplay and unarmed combat had been primarily against human-like creatures, but even Bowser had some weaknesses. And he was slower.

Ganondorf drove his fist into Bowser’s nose before Bowser could bite it off. Instead of toppling him, though, it only made him angrier. Ganondorf leapt up and used his levitation to cling to the ceiling just as Bowser bathed the path before him in fire.

Peach yelped.

Bowser swung around to stare at Ghirahim, murder in his eyes. Ganondorf saw the end for his most loyal servant, but the Triforce was _right_ there. If he could just touch it before Bowser destroyed Ghirahim, he could save their skins and get back to Hyrule before anyone blinked.

Besides, Ghirahim could handle this.

“Am I doing well, Master?” Ghirahim called trustingly, holding Peach’s back against him with a blade to her neck.

“Sharp as ever,” Ganondorf replied distractedly. His eyes were filled with golden light.

Bowser growled deeply, low and menacing enough to remind Ganondorf that King Koopa was, in fact, a dragon. He wasn’t sure if Princess Peach or Ghirahim were going to survive the next few seconds, but in his bones he felt that something was wrong: wishing them back to Hyrule wouldn’t fix whatever was broken. Part of him knew that the things going on now couldn’t be reversed in the present time, and he would need assistance undoing what was about to happen to Hylian lands.

His present plans would have to wait. He wanted to conquer all of Hylia, not unmake it. “Ghirahim,” he said, as he saw a tearful Peach begin to move and Bowser prepare to leap. He held out his hand. “Come to me.”

For a moment, time seemed to slow in Ganondorf’s mind. Peach rammed her head back into Ghirahim’s nose as the demon sword sizzled into a streak of lightning toward Ganondorf’s hand. Bowser pounced. Ganondorf fell toward the Triforce, his left hand outstretched. The princess looked up at them in horror as they touched it, blue eyes far too bright and innocent.

This was for the best.

Ganondorf was used to a feeling of freefalling like in a dream. He came to expect the rush it sent from his chest to a knot in his throat, and could normally blink away the dizziness in about a second. There was no feeling of adrenaline. There was no sudden drop.

There was just him, Ghirahim, and the continued force of momentum as they crashed to the floor in a palace full of Hyrulean guards staring at them both, with Princess Zelda recovering swiftly enough to aim a Light arrow straight at Ganondorf’s chest.

Both Demon King and sword spirit looked up in exhausted surprise. “What did you wish for, Master?” Ghirahim whispered into the tense silence.

Ganondorf met Princess Zelda’s cold, blue eyes with his feral golden ones. She was too far away to hear him, “To change fate.”

The arrow pierced his armor and struck him in the heart as he rose. He gasped, searing pain tearing at the darkness within him. Everything spun. He could hear that sing-song voice again, a flash of pink next to Zelda, asking what she was going to do with him.

“The dungeon,” was the answer. Guards were running nearby. Someone shouted a curse, but whatever was causing the disturbance around him evidently got away. Things weren’t making sense anymore. He collapsed back to the floor.

And precious hours began ticking down on the last three days of Hyrule.


	2. Deja Boo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, the 3 days is not a mistake. Also, let me know what you like/dislike about it! I know it sounds silly, but it does keep me motivated when I know someone is interested.

#### Hyrule Palace

#### 3 Days Left

He dreamt of his arms getting eaten away by golden ants. He was tied down, spread-eagle somewhere in the open desert by some unknown entity while they ate his limbs to the shoulder and eight shadows watched. The pain made him want to cry out, but in his periphery, opposite the silent Sages, his mother and his aunts of the Gerudo tribe were watching and would see his weakness, and he could not imagine bringing them shame in front of his enemies. He arched his back to lift himself out of the mound. He squirmed to avoid the sun so hot on his bare chest that it burned. He furiously shook his head from all the creepy-crawlies wandering onto the back of his neck. They wouldn’t see him give. He would laugh if it was the only sound he ever made.

Ganondorf shook himself awake inside a familiar dungeon cell beneath Hyrule Palace. He breathed jerkily. The burning tingle he felt in his arms wasn’t ants; he tugged them instinctively, but neither one moved. He couldn’t even feel them; they were numb from being chained over his head. Well.

Water dripped somewhere, so he was near the sewers. They must have taken him somewhere deep in the labyrinth so he couldn’t escape. As Ganondorf took in his surroundings, trying to reconstruct what happened, he noticed a few things:

One, he was sick of Light magic. The princess chained him to the wall using special manacles that he couldn’t just break in half or spell his way out of. They seared his wrists where they touched him, but otherwise he could feel nothing of his arms beyond his shoulder. They were stretched so far above his head that he wasn’t fully touching the ground. This was going to become a problem sooner rather than later.

Two, Ghirahim was nowhere to be found. The sword spirit must have gotten away. This made breathing a little easier, knowing that somewhere out there, he had a means of escape. It must have been the commotion he heard around him as he was temporarily felled. The only question was how long it was going to take him to extricate him from the cell.

Three, he had no idea what the Triforce had done. His heart did an uncomfortable back-flip in his aching chest. Everything hurt to move. Whatever Zelda had done to him was meant to suppress everything he had, but that bit of information was shoved aside by the more pressing matter of his wish. In the moment of touching the Triforce, he’d meant to reverse what damage had been done to Hyrule (and make it his). He wondered if the Parting Relic had reacted in its own way—it seemed to have given him the technical fulfillment of his wish, the opportunity to challenge fate at its own game—rather than just hand it to him. It knew him too well.

That meant…there was a possibility that he was in the past, not an unheard-of situation for the Demon King, who knew more magic and lore than nearly anyone but the Hylian royal family. How far back did it throw him? How long did he have to correct Peach’s mistake?

Ganondorf hung his head as a wave of nausea hit him. First things first—his imprisonment was making him sick. The Light Manacles were affecting all of him, not just his wrists.

He exhaled and took another deep, slow breath as footsteps came to a halt in the hallway outside. He could hear guards stepping aside, noticed between breaths the sound of keys rattling in the lock.

Princess Zelda was as radiant as ever. He didn’t think that because of her beauty—although she was, if he were to care, actually beautiful—but from a literal perspective; she glowed in his energy-sensitive sight. He could see it in a way some people saw ghosts, in the inexplicable feeling of being watched in a crowded place. It simply was, and she was not happy to see him.

He lifted his head and instantly had to look away from the light. It was too much after being alone in the dark for so long. “Guards, he’s awake,” he heard her say. “If he moves to escape, shoot him.”

“Princess,” Ganondorf growled calmly as she entered. His mane of wild red hair spilled over his shoulders and gave the impression of a fiery, caged lion. No one but him had to know he felt emotions other than disdain.

“Ganondorf,” Zelda addressed him formally, not a trace of goodness’ warmth in her tone. “You appear in my palace uninvited and covered in burns. Your servant murders twelve guards. Do you have anything to say to your defense?” “I do, Princess. That’s a record low for Ghirahim.” Zelda’s hands fisted at her sides. “ _You have been charged with crimes against the realm._ I have contacted the Sages, and they will be here soon to carry out your sentence.” “No trial, then,” Ganondorf mocked. “Where is this justice system I hear stories about?” “As if you know what justice is,” replied the princess, as tightly controlled as she could muster. She stopped just out of arm’s reach, looking up at his chained form and feral golden eyes. “You’re not innocent. You know what you are.” “A Gerudo,” he answered. “A man exiled from Hyrule even if he had not had the soul of a dark god residing in his chest. Remind me why my people exist, Princess.” 

“A thief, Ganondorf. You are a thief and a liar, and as much of a man as a Goron is a Zora.”

“Yet they are both more considered peoples of Hylia than the Gerudo.”

"You're derailing,” she snapped. “You will be judged and summarily dealt with, tomorrow.”

“I don’t have that long to dally here.”

“I don’t care.” Zelda’s blue eyes flashed, and Ganondorf caught a fleeting thought as it whizzed curiously through his brain.

“I have one question, Princess.”

She clasped her hands in front of her, forcing her expression back to neutral. “Fine.”

“Why did you come here to see me?”

There was a long pause in which neither of them spoke.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand the question,” Zelda said finally, blinking.

Ganondorf smirked. “You do, Princess,” he insisted. “Since when is the bearer of Wisdom vindictive and petty? Do you come to gloat over a chained prisoner?”

“Oh,” she said, her poise relaxing in such a subtle degree that Ganondorf almost missed it in his near-blinding pain. “Ganondorf, you can’t really be so blind. Do you think that Link never feels fear?” She took one small step closer, “or that you are never weak?”

It took a second for him as the words sank in to realize she was talking about his horrible, aching fatigue. Amusement began to bubble in his chest, and what would’ve been hysterical laughter had it had more force came out instead like a hearty, lengthy chuckle bordering on madness. The princess was wasting his time with _jokes_. “You surprise me sometimes,” he admitted. He chuckled some more as princess Zelda stood stoically before him. “I forget how clever you are. But why are you really here, Princess?”

“I wanted to see if you are still the same hungry, vengeful shadow that would kill me if you had the chance. I cannot forgive someone who seeks no pardon.”

“You came to save me,” he sneered. “May I ask why you thought telling your guards to shoot me if I moved was a peaceful way to enter that interaction?”

“It wasn’t a peaceful way,” she answered sagely, “It was the cautious way.”

“Tell me when you get tired of this cycle,” Ganondorf said haughtily. “It could all end if you bowed to me.”

“And that, Demon Thief, is why you will be executed.” Zelda slowly turned on her heel and began walking away. “Goodbye, Ganondorf.”

He couldn’t just let her walk away. He didn’t know how much time he had left before it ran out. “Something worse than I is happening to Hyrule,” Ganondorf spat. “Kill me, but protect your precious Triforce!”

Zelda’s foot clacked to a hard stop next to the other.

He shuddered and sucked in another breath, willing himself not to bow to the weariness in his limbs. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“We? The Triforce will be safe once Power is out of your hands,” she said. Then she hesitated. “What’s coming?”

“A thief. Your friend, Peach.”

Zelda stared hard at him over her shoulder.

“You think I’m kidding,” he said softly, and chuckled again. She frowned and opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it, and continued out of the cell. The big, metal door swung closed with a hard screech of something old and normally forgotten.

She would not believe him, but at least he’d placed that doubt in her mind. Maybe that was all he needed to accomplish to change Hylia’s fate.

And maybe Zoras could fly.

…

Never trust a sentient inanimate object, Ghirahim would later tell Ganondorf, even though his sense of humor was often lost on his master. The sword spirit being what it was, he’d been able to defy things like natural physics to get away, relying on his incredible speed and levitation to escape. Before he’d even realized that his powerful master was no longer behind him, the princess already had him. It was going to put a dent in all their efforts to save Hyrule.

The actual sentient inanimate object he would be referring to, of course, was the Triforce. It didn’t care about convenience or time, no—the thing put them back a solid week before Ganondorf got Bowser’s invitation to his castle. (Add the travel time that took and it meant that…) They were eight days back in time, which coincided with Ghirahim’s original memory of being at Hyrule Palace.

That day had gone a little better. He was doing some homework for his master while the Demon King was away in other lands, and he had known that there was some sort of commotion going on, but he hadn’t ever bothered to find out what. The high alert thwarted his would-be attempt to kidnap the princess.

Of course, his master wouldn’t know any of that. Ganondorf was probably unaware of when they’d been sent to, which made it all the more urgent that he get to him and explain. His master _hated_ not knowing important information.

He sighed and hopped atop another crenellation on the roof of the palace. In his mad skip to freedom, he’d left a swath of untidy deaths behind him, and one nasty paper cut on the hand of a lucky bowman. Now the murder-happy sword was debating how he was going to get—not just back into the castle—all the way into the dungeon where they were keeping him.

He glanced morosely at his captive audience. Four disembodied heads were propped up in a line that faced him, one of them still wearing an officer’s helmet. “If I don’t go down there, how will Master escape?” He pranced a step closer. “If I do go down there, they’ll melt me down and make me into helmets, and we know how _useful_ they are, don’t we?” The dead officer did not respond, and Ghirahim raked his hair back with all dramatic effect. “Oh, I suppose you’re right. Nothing risked, nothing gained, and I’m sure I can make the extra red look good.” He smirked and took a step back. “Now, then,” he added to himself, “I don’t need all of you.”

Guards below later reported heads soaring over the palace rooftop, not knowing that Ghirahim had kicked three of them more or less like footballs. Those on duty panicked and claimed something about demons and the spirits of the dead as they fled. Ghirahim, Lord of Creepytown and the Fashionably Late, proceeded back into the castle with the last helmeted head under the crook of his arm. One unfortunate guard met him on the spiral staircase; that was okay—Ghirahim loved surprising people. Take this person for instance: the guard’s face as he was told, “Catch!” and thrown his co-worker’s head was _absolutely_ priceless.

…

Ganondorf didn’t hear much going on outside the cell. It had been pitch black inside the cell since the princess left him, and in her wake the stars slowly faded from his eyes and he was left with only the occasional drip of water and the numbness in his arms to mark his own existence. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed, other than _a lot_. He could only feel the creep of Hylia’s doom ticking _closer, closer_. It was a sickening worry that gnawed at the inside of his gut, like rats to carrion.

It was a rush of relief as the first heavy _thud_ burst against his door. The anguished cry of his sentry and a fleshy _whump_ against his door signaled his rescuer’s arrival not a moment too soon. Ganondorf’s heart hammered in his chest as he heard the rattle of something heavy and metallic hit the ground. There was a jangle of keys, a curse, and then those keys being thrown down.

“One second, Master,” floated Ghirahim’s voice from the hallway. “Please don’t stand behind the doorway.”

Ganondorf licked his parched lips. “You’re clear.”

There was a few seconds of silence. Ganondorf listened, then as the sound of something being swung around whirred through the air, he jerked his face to the side just in time to avoid breathing a cloud of splinters.

The entire door and part of the wall blasted apart. A cloud of shattered stone and twisted metal flew into the room, striking Ganondorf and the rest of the wall with large chunks of shrapnel and settling in his mane. Ganondorf shook his head and glared at Ghirahim.

“Subtlety!” he yelled. “Now the whole palace will know you’re here!”

Ghirahim was standing in the doorway holding a giant, spiked flail on the end of a chain and looking mighty pleased with himself. “Can you believe the princess lets her warden carry one of these?” he asked.

“Charming,” said Ganondorf drily. “Continue this conversation after you’ve released me. These manacles are light magic.”

“As you wish.”

_“Not with the flail!”_

Ghirahim gave him a flat look. “The flail is untouched by darkness, Master. I won’t hit you.”

Ooh, this was going to hurt.

“Your life depends on that,” Ganondorf growled.

Ghirahim lifted the flail and chain and swung it over his head. “Stay still, Master.”

“You will feel unbearable pain if this does not go well,” warned Ganondorf in a slightly higher pitch.

Ghirahim struck with all force at the manacles above his master’s head. With the chain broken, the spell broke. Ganondorf’s arms fell uselessly to his sides, much to his dismay and Ghirahim’s confusion.

“You won’t understand,” Ganondorf griped at the sword, “but until I get feeling back in my arms, you’re my protection. Get us out.”

Ghirahim smirked. Ganondorf followed his sword out into the hall; he was impressed by the carnage, but could already hear more guards mustering themselves up for a fight. “They’re afraid,” noted Ganondorf. “Let’s show them something to be afraid of.”

This time around, no one caught them off guard. Even without his arms to aid him, the Demon King could kick low, and his magic threw his enemies as his sword cut them down. Together they escaped through the sewers, and by the time they were out, Ganondorf could feel burning in his limbs—a step up from complete numbness, he admitted.

They fled the grounds and hopped a wall past a guard tower, and afterwards they ran until Ghirahim opened a portal into the desert. Ganondorf stepped from lush, Hylian grass to Gerudean sands between one blink and the next; he sighed and fell to his knees in relief, the burning, setting sun a familiar heat on his shoulders.

He was home.

“Master?” Ghirahim asked. “What are you doing?”

“Quiet, fool,” Ganondorf snapped. “Let me rest.”

Ghirahim _hmphed_ and daintily crossed his arms. “You could at least thank me for getting you out of there.”

Ganondorf sighed and sat back on his calves. Now that he was in a place of relative safety (at least familiarity), he could afford to air his plans. “You did well, though it took you too long,” he begrudged him. “When are we?”

Ghirahim raised an ironic hand. “I can answer that.”

“You can?” Ganondorf got slowly to his feet. “How?”

“I was at Hyrule Palace eight days ago. This day,” he said with emphasis, “I was interrupted in my attempt to kidnap the princess by some commotion already taking place. I was chased out by guards and the princess and barely escaped with everything intact. Now I know that it was us.”

“So we’re eight days in the past,” Ganondorf said grimly. “Why didn’t it just send us back to the day Peach stole the Triforce?”

Ghirahim shrugged helplessly. “You tell me, Master. I wasn’t the one who touched it.”

Ganondorf frowned. “If you were interrupted by us, our past selves are still here. We’re in a loop. I should contact myself.”

“Yet you never heard from your future self before,” Ghirahim advised. “There must have been a reason.”

The two looked at each other. “I wasn’t in Hylian lands,” Ganondorf said finally. “I was gathering servants in other realms, servants that might still be useful if we survive. I can’t bother myself with this.”

“And I was preoccupied in the demon world,” Ghirahim added.

“Heh,” said Ganondorf, “We can’t even help ourselves.” He dusted himself off and rolled his shoulders back. “Well, there are advantages to being from the future. That settlement over there is home to a tribe of moblins loyal to me. I’ll be able to get a horse and some proper assistance.”

“What’s the plan, Master?”

“The plan,” said Ganondorf, “is to acquire the Triforce before Princess Toadstool. With my piece, I…” He frowned and looked at his hand. The feeling had finally come back, but something was missing.

Ghirahim stood on tiptoe over his shoulder. “Do you think your past self has it?”

Ganondorf growled. “No matter. Retrieving my own is the last step. I’ll simply take it from the other two first.”

A question nagged at him at the back of his mind, but he didn’t have time to ask it. Eight days to find and retrieve all three pieces of the Triforce was no small accomplishment. He would need an army to storm the palace, an ambush for the Hero. Some minor preparations were involved, or so he would downplay it.

Ghirahim followed him skeptically on foot, holding his tongue. Together they walked for an hour as the sun sank into darkness, but not before painting the sky in watercolor reds and bruised purples. In the settlement before them, firelight flickered to life in small hut windows, lamps, and campfires. Ganondorf noticed that even the moblins disliked letting the poes wander too close at night.

“Master,” Ghirahim asked at length, in a tone Ganondorf recognized as him asking permission to be personal.

Ganondorf sighed heavily. “What is it?”

“How are we going to save Hyrule without an army?”

Thank the gods _that_ was his only question. Ganondorf glanced back at him. “Watch.”

Ganondorf beckoned to a poe wandering aimlessly off to their left. The apparition aggressively charged them, but as it got close, Ganondorf stepped forward. In one fluid motion, he grabbed the lantern it held and swung it hard into its head. Ghirahim raised an eyebrow and followed his master as he hopped over a broken portion of the palisade to stand in the middle of the village. The poe howled as it followed them. Mean little eyes began appearing in doorways and little rounded windows.

“Master…?”

A small bonfire blazed in the center of the village. Ganondorf stood before it and cast the lantern in, ignoring the anguished screech behind him.

Demise, they once called him. _All lives must end._ He raised his hands as the unholy wail pervaded the village with its final note. The fire grew and turned a fey, luminous green, and Ganondorf closed his eyes.

The sickly green energy of the poe soul bloomed from the fire toward his hands, and all other fires in the village were suddenly puffed out.

The Gerudo king’s eyes caught the eerie light as he looked up in the darkness, a lion in the presence of a gazelle herd. “Follow or fuel me. It makes no difference.”

The eyes retreated. Curtains in adobe windows fell into place as moblins shuffled out of their huts, eyes wary and rodent-like in their smallness. One of them—a female, Ganondorf idly noted—was brave enough to ask, “You took ten strong already. Where are they?”

“Alive.” That’s right, this was one of the villages he’d demanded warriors from. Of course this felt familiar. “They are on an important mission for me in the east. I need more of you for a different matter.”

“Another ten,” a moblin echoed.

“Another ten,” Ganondorf agreed. “Volunteers will not be guaranteed a safe return, but their village will remain under my protection. Do not make me wait.”

The moblins glanced at one another. Immediately, the older female who’d spoken first walked over to him with her spear in hand.

Ganondorf looked expectantly at the others.

One by one, ten able-bodied moblins shuffled their way over to Ganondorf. Ghirahim hummed approval and flipped back his hair.

“Good,” said Ganondorf, and the lone bonfire flickered on his face in a sea of darkness. “We ride at dawn.”


	3. An Unexpected Detour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, there's some shit about to go down. I hope y'all are having as much fun reading it as I am writing it. Leave a comment or kudos, whichever works for you. It sustains me better than coffee.

#### Gerudo Desert

#### 2 Days Left

The red sun kissed the horizon over desert sands as a small force of moblins left the village on boarback led by the Gerudo king and Ghirahim on horses. What remained of the tribe gathered to see them off with supplies for the trip; the youngest wiggled their noses anxiously and clung to their present parent, and Ganondorf turned away, only to spy Ghirahim a couple feet from him on his white horse, looking a little too hungrily at one of the children.

Ganondorf snapped his fingers.

Ghirahim blinked and smiled a little too smoothly to be wholly apologetic. “The recent bloodletting has me a little excitable, Master. Forgive me.”

“You’ll get your sacrifices elsewhere,” Ganondorf muttered. He clung to his reins and guided his sleek, black horse close to Ghirahim’s as moblin families handed off parcels in saddlebags. His voice was low and possessive. “The desert and everyone in it is _mine_.”

Although the company showed exceptional tolerance to dry heat, Ganondorf preferred leaving early before the sun peaked too high. Even snakes and moldorms retreated to shelter during the hottest hours of midday. Exhausting his limited handpower would serve no purpose and would only cost him precious resources, so he guided them as swiftly as their animals would allow.

For miles, there was nothing. Patches of soil hard enough to grow a scraggly bush or two proved to be the only landmarks they had as the soft rays became harsher on what was mostly sand. By early afternoon they had ridden for eight hours straight and approached Lake Hylia by a secret pass earlier than Ganondorf anticipated. He scoped out a spot and raised his fist in silent command.

“Twenty minutes!” he yelled. Moblins scurried to fill their canteens and check their mounts. Ganondorf swung down from his saddle and felt the lush grass cushion his iron-toed boots. Immediately, a pair of moblins showed up to take care of the creature that had carried him all morning. Ghirahim followed suit.

“Where are we going from here?” Ghirahim asked. They both walked to the edge of the water and looked out across its glittering surface, their backs to the rocks that rose like uneven steps toward the desert. Again, Ganondorf’s servant was looking for answers. He wanted to feel included in the plan.

Ganondorf was silent for several long seconds. How did he admit that he was making his course up as he went along? There were too many variables and too many things going on at once; his mission currently in the east was of as much importance as his present here; or should he say, that his past was as important as his present? It was simple: he didn’t. He could already hear the Twinrova in his head telling him never to admit to weakness. “The Hero and the Princess have the other Pieces,” he said flatly. “We find them. After that, we take our party east and find my past self. He will hand it over.”

“And if he—you—doesn’t?” Ghirahim asked.

Ganondorf’s mouth formed a hard line. There was a prickle at the back of his neck just as he was about to tell him in other words to fuck off, that he didn’t need to answer to his own weapon, when a cry from their scout on the rocks told him someone was watching. Ghirahim was a flash of light beside him, and suddenly Ganondorf held a fat, black blade with serrated edges heavier than most men, and he was sprinting after someone he _knew_ he’d been hoping for.

Ordinarily, his hand would’ve itched. It would have spread up his arm with a tingling similar to the numbness his arms felt after hours of being shackled above his head in the palace dungeon. Knowing the presence of the other two Pieces was something he knew more intimately than his own limitations, and it offended him not to feel it stinging the inside of his veins like liquid fire. He wondered if the Hero had noticed the absence, too.

…

Link crashed into a rock face as he veered left in a sprint, abandoning his position. If it had been ten moblins, fine. He had not expected two powerful entities like Ganondorf and Ghirahim wandering Lake Hylia on their own; the last he’d heard, they’d gone east on some nameless mission. Hyrule was supposed to be free.

It was daylight, and spotting the great beast of his nightmares in such a placid place jarred him badly. He could hear Ganondorf’s heavy footsteps behind him: _thu-thud, thu-thud_ , or was that his heart? He could practically hear his breath, _huff huff_ , like some wild animal. Link sprinted up the rocks like a rabbit evading a pack of dogs, but he could tell by the warbled cries of the moblins that they were closing in. If only he could get to Epona; he never should have left her so far away, and he was running too hard to whistle for her.

He placed his hand on the last ledge and hauled himself to his elbows before glancing up. A scout (of course) stared down at him with shrewd, beady eyes.

The moblin planted its foot on Link’s face and shoved, hard.

…

Ganondorf watched Link fall ten feet to the next lowest outcrop and lie as motionless as death. The Demon King reached him first; he dropped his sword to the ground and checked the green heap’s pulse. “Alive,” he announced. Ghirahim resumed his more fabulous of forms and gazed down admiringly at the young man, pretending to ignore the fact that he’d just been dropped like a sandbag.

“Sacrifices…” he cloyingly reminded Ganondorf.

Ganondorf growled warningly in response. “Priorities,” he retorted. It would be easy to let Link meet an unenvious fate. Ghirahim had done his duty respectably well during this recent debacle, but something in Ganondorf seemed disgusted at the idea. He had neither the time nor desire to watch Ghirahim play with his food.

“But aren’t you going to kill him, Master?”

Ganondorf shook his head and spread his fingers in the air over Link’s crumpled body. The Hero’s hand glowed, and Ganondorf felt a gentle resistance as he started to call the Piece from its natural bearer. Its energy was different from Power—separate but identifiably part of the whole Triforce. Ganondorf should feel Courage settle into his hand and spread its power through his core any time now; yet the glow in Link’s hand died, and Ganondorf still felt empty.

This was not good.

“Leave him.” Ganondorf stood and glanced up at the scout on the rocks. He nodded his approval; the old moblin woman nodded back, then she began to climb down toward the party. Ganondorf turned to face the others. “Break time is over. We head for the Palace for the remaining Piece. Our goal is to be there by dusk and hide until the sky is dark.”

He walked over to a patch of dirt and rubbed away bits of rock and grass so he could draw. He knelt, gesturing for the rest to gather around. “The Palace,” he said. He drew an approximate shape of the Hyrulean Royal Palace and placed X’s at each of the entrances. “Here is the gate; here are the relevant known locations to the palace that Ghirahim and I have discovered.” He could practically see Ghirahim preening in his peripheral, “And this is what we’re going to avoid.” He indicated the main entrance and glanced up meaningfully at them all. “This is not a raid like you’re all used to. Prepare yourselves for a stealth mission. We’re breaking in to steal Wisdom from the Princess.”

“Hm…Master,” asked Ghirahim politely, leaning in and steepling his fingers. “The last time we were at the Palace was yesterday. What’s going to make this time any different?”

“The element of surprise.” Ganondorf smirked to show how nonplussed he was at the disturbing lack of Courage in the Hero. “You and I were given unfavorable odds. This time those won’t be an issue.”

Ghirahim smiled his oily smile and touched his lips in thought. “Very well, Master. Permission to do as I want with the guards?”

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with the word ‘ _stealth_ ,’” Ganondorf emphasized the last word clearly, “I don’t care _what_ you do.”

The gleam in Ghirahim’s eye suggested he’d given him the greatest reward. He didn’t feel reassured.

…

The Plan was simple: get in, get out with the Piece. Try not to make too much noise. Try not to alert Impa or too many guards. Aim for the neck so the sentries can’t scream for help. Ghirahim, _put down that lance_.

And above all: do not let the Princess escape.

Ganondorf was understandably anxious. Everything seemed too subdued when they snuck through the town through the drains and hid behind the grates leading to the palace. There were no extra guards patrolling the town. There were no Wanted posters for his head. It was all too…normal.

“Trap,” whispered Ganondorf against the trickle of water at their feet.

“Trap,” agreed Ghirahim.

“I’m insulted.” Ganondorf looked out at the quiet, nocturnal setting before them. The moon was hidden by overcast, the air thick with the scent of imminent rain. A guard’s lantern swung to and fro at his belt behind the gardens. On the roof wandered two more, and an archer gazed out boredly from his perch in one of the towers, seemingly oblivious. He gestured for the moblin woman to come closer. “Can you hit that sniper?” he asked. She nodded; earlier that day he’d asked her name, and she said simply, “Artist.” He didn’t ask why her name was a Hylian word—if that’s what she wanted to be called, so be it.

“Good. I want you trained on him first. Bako and Han, remove our garden prowler. Keep the perimeter clear of eyes as Ghirahim and I go in. Once this side is secure, leave scouts and come find me. Stay to the shadows.” As much as he appreciated a straightforward attack, hunting in the desert as a child taught him certain finesse when tracking difficult prey. A good plan was its own mark of superiority, and thankfully the moblins understood as hunters themselves. He shifted quietly. “On my mark.”

Ganondorf waited, crouched in silence with his minions as the wind breezed their cloaks and made ripples in the grey water they dared not slosh in. It was important to let their prey go to sleep; and sure enough, as they patiently lurked in the sewers, Ganondorf’s party noticed palace lights dimming. Still, they breathed shallowly in the foul tunnels. It was the change of shift they were looking for.

 _Go._ Ganondorf held his hand up and sliced the air. The Artist released three arrows from her bow— _fump, fump, fump_ —and watched her targets drop with satisfaction. Two younger moblins, Bako and Han, bum-rushed the man in the garden with their spears before he even turned around. Ganondorf and Ghirahim swept past their allies dragging the body behind the hedges, Ghirahim making neither noise nor footprints in his wake while Ganondorf was simply too massive of a man not to leave a dent in the grass, but they were stealthy enough to avoid notice as they slipped inside the castle. This time, they had the advantage.

Ganondorf gestured for Ghirahim to stay close. His sword all but clung to him, creeping up the stairs while listening for anyone behind them. They chose that tower rather than the sewers because, for one, the sewers went to the dungeons and the church, and neither were places the Demon King wanted to be. Secondly, and more important, the tunnels leading into the palace were guarded. Especially after both he and Link used them for the same purpose, he couldn’t imagine that the princess would be stupid enough to leave it open now that the secret was out. That was likely the trap waiting for them. The way through the gardens had been more difficult to maneuver with ten pig-faced moblins and a white-haired sword spirit in bright spandex. The likelihood of the princess expecting his entrance this direction was in his favor.

Besides, this ran straight to the princess’ quarters.

He could feel Ghirahim prancing on the stairs behind him. Bloodthirsty anticipation ran through his servant’s veins like blood ran through his, and there was no containing him once he got a huge hit of violence. If Zelda offered anything but peaceful surrender, Ganondorf would be issuing threats at target and ally alike.

“Wait here,” he whispered softly. He left Ghirahim at the top of the spiral stairs as he moved down the silent, unguarded hallway. Again, a sense of foreboding seized him. There should be someone here, shouldn’t there? He carefully cracked open the large, arched door and shut it immediately. Two throwing knives embedded themselves in the reinforced wood.

“Impa.” Ganondorf glanced at Ghirahim. “The bed was empty. Go. _Now!_ ”

Ganondorf and Ghirahim fled down the stairs as the door swung back open and those same two knives flew past Ganondorf’s ear by a mere fingernail’s thickness. “Demon King!” she roared.

It was more than just a frustrated yell; the way she screamed it alerted whatever else was waiting for them, and Ganondorf had just enough time to launch himself out a glass window as arrows came flying from both directions.

Thunder rolled outside. Ganondorf hit the roof and staggered back to his feet among shattered glass and sprinted across sloping, dangerous tile. Ghirahim blinked to existence beside him in a flurry of multicolored diamonds. They panted. Lightning flashed. Arrows ricocheted off a taxing shield spell Ganondorf called into existence behind them and pelted the roof in a series of dings and thwacks before skittering off the roof into nothingness. And to top it all, the pressure dropped.

And rain came down.

Ganondorf slipped in the downpour and his breath hitched as he slid toward the ledge. He barely had time to dig in his claws. _Was this it?_ Impa shouted something; someone grabbed the back of his collar and righted him. He grunted at Ghirahim. The two bolted without missing a beat, launching themselves toward the catwalk and vaulting over the crenellations without saying a word to each other. They entered another tower, soaked, and slammed the door behind them. They needed precious seconds that didn’t exist; _who told the princess that they were coming back so soon?_

As if in answer, Ganondorf heard Zelda’s voice from the courtyard. “Link! They’re up there!”

Ghirahim bristled behind Ganondorf. “Foolish boy, getting in our way again! How dare he interfere!”

“We have another way out,” Ganondorf reminded him. He rolled his feral golden eyes toward his servant. “We’re not trapped yet.”

“The princess has wards all over her castle tonight, Master. I can’t get us back to the desert.”

Ganondorf shook his head. “You misunderstand me, Ghirahim.”

The door to the roof they’d just locked suddenly shook as something hard slammed against it. “That would be Impa,” Ganondorf said drily.

“Again! Ram it again!” came her muffled voice on the outside.

The Gerudo King could show no fear. In the midst of a storm, surrounded by enemies, he would not go down showing anyone the tremor that ran through his human heart. After all, he had seen death before. A large portion of him would never die, since he was only the mortal incarnation of a god. If anything ceased to exist, it would only be the weaknesses and attachments of his mortal mind.

But what if this time he didn’t come back?

All of this was because Toadstool stole the Triforce. One Piece had to still be here. If he killed her in a matter of days from now, why would Hyrule be falling apart when he wished to go back? He could feel it—he knew before he wished on the Triforce that its destruction was true. The Parting Relics were disappearing and what had he been able to do about it?

What if the end of the Relics were the end of him?

Too many questions: questions only plagued the mind with fear when only action could change the course of history. He could feel his limbs reacting to that notion, felt warmth flow through him again and quiet his thoughts. As he heard footsteps storming the stairs, he grabbed Ghirahim’s spandex collar and shoved him into a nearby chamber.

“Take us somewhere!” he ordered.

“ _Where_ , Master?” asked Ghirahim desperately.

“ANYWHERE!”

The door burst open. Link and Princess Zelda stood in fury as Ghirahim tore the air behind Ganondorf in half.

“Give it back!” Zelda roared.

At first Ganondorf thought she meant Courage, which he didn’t have—but he didn’t sense her Piece, either. “Neither of you have yours,” he mused. _I was too late._ He smirked at the irony. “You didn’t take my warning, Princess.”

Link raised his sword and charged. Ganondorf turned and leapt through the portal, hoping that wherever Ghirahim took them, it wasn’t to certain death. He could stand a little reprieve for a moment.

“Link, no!”

Zelda’s voice cried out as the Hero dove after Ganondorf. Zelda followed suit. Ghirahim’s eyes widened as he slammed the portal shut too late: all four of them were already through.

“ _YOU!_ ”

Zelda reached into the air and plucked a bow from nonexistence. She was bathed in light and fury. “YOU _MONSTER_.”

“Enough! Princess!” Ganondorf cried, turning to Link. “Boy! _Look where you are!_ ”

The angry desperation shocked Link and Zelda enough to comply. They were not in Hyrule anymore—the clock tower looked strangely familiar, at least to one of them, but this was all wrong.

The clock tower struck midnight. The moon loomed over them with its wide, too-bright crater eyes and manic grin. Zelda lowered her bow and gasped. Link gaped wide in disbelief.

_He’d fixed it. He woke the guardians. He’d found the masks. Why was this happening again?_

“Everything we are will be destroyed,” Ganondorf said slowly, “unless you both listen to me, right now.”

Link turned and stared hard at Ganondorf. Zelda tightened her hands on her blinding bow.

“There is more than us at stake here,” the Demon King continued. “This,” and at that word, Ganondorf gestured toward Termina’s ominous moon, “is just a symptom of the destruction to come to all Hylian lands, and not just Hylian lands. The whole world is in danger.”

“How did this happen?” Zelda breathed.

“I told you, back in the dungeon,” sneered Ganondorf. “You chose not to listen. Princess Toadstool has seen fit to give herself the Relics that don’t belong to her.”

Link glanced back and forth between Ganondorf and Zelda, not quite sure what they were saying. What were the Relics? Why was Termina going to die? What did Peach have to do with any of this?

“Allow me to tell you a story of the present,” Ganondorf continued, “of a conversation I’m having in the east as we speak.”


	4. Time and Space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I edited the last part of chapter 1, so you might want to go back and read it if you haven't. It was necessary because one-shotting Bowser was unacceptable, even to get to other parts of the story. Also that line about "I created you" back there was supposed to mean, "I got you where you are today," not literal creation. And keep in mind, peeps, this is usually from the characters' POV. Ganondorf and Bowser disagree about a lot of things, including who got who where.
> 
> 2\. About the ship, I didn't expect it to go this way. I'm not sorry.*
> 
> 3\. I should probably be sorry for a lot of things.

#### Comet Observatory

#### The Present-Past

The Comet Observatory hadn’t changed much since he last visited; the floating spaceship wandered the Dreamscape in the dimensional plane above Hyrule and the Mushroom Kingdom, and its keeper was waiting for him as he stepped through the portal. Ganondorf’s boots clicked against the tile connecting the landing pad to the nucleus of the Observatory. Rosalina stood before him, as placid as the last time they met. She smiled mildly and gently held out her hands, taking both of his.

“I’m glad you got my summons.”

“Lady,” he said cordially, squeezing her fingers carefully.

Rosalina released his hands and walked him toward the library. It was a circular path, but Ganondorf was able to compare how little the spaceship changed over the years and how constant Rosalina herself stayed. She’d grown up, but somehow forgotten to grow old. “How is Hylia?” she asked.

“As stable as sand,” he replied. She smiled more fully, and Ganondorf remembered why he chose a softer approach with this one. The two found chairs near the large, mahogany bookshelves and settled themselves in for a talk. “I read your summons, Rosalina. What happened to the Star Rod?”

Almost at once, her smile vanished. Ganondorf caught movement in his peripheral and turned just in time to see a little golden star float across the room into Rosalina’s arms. The woman hugged it like a pillow. “They’re just gone,” she said.

Ganondorf sat back and furrowed his bushy eyebrows. “The Star Rod doesn’t just disappear,” he growled quietly. He didn’t miss the plurality of what she’d said; he simply hoped he misheard it.

“You don’t understand,” replied Rosalina, shaking her head. “They’re all gone. From every Dream Fountain. From Star Haven. King Dedede and General Pepper have been in contact with me since it happened.”

“Corneria, too?”

“ _Everywhere,_ ” she emphasized. Rosalina’s fingers drifted down to stroke Luma’s sides. The little star’s eyes drooped contentedly, threatening to close. She met Ganondorf’s gaze. “This is more than we’ve ever faced.”

Ganondorf ignored Luma’s presence. “It’s not Nightmare, is it?” he asked.

Rosalina shook her head. “The Star Fox team already tracked him down. He had nothing to do with it.”

“Odd.” Ganondorf glanced off into space. The protective airlock around the Comet Observatory was invisible and magical in nature, relying on Rosalina more than the Power Stars to work, and was only needed by her and visiting planet-dwellers. He appreciated it to buy himself response time. “I’ve received several other requests for my presence; I assume they’re all for the same reason.”

“Likely,” she answered. “This is a universal concern. Without the Star Rods and Relics anywhere near their dimensions, they’ll begin to fall apart.”

Ganondorf turned back to Rosalina. For the first time since he’d seen her as a child, she looked considerably nervous. He smirked. “Am I the only one who finds irony in everyone asking for my help?”

“You’re one of a very few people who knows what’s going on.”

“Still ironic,” he insisted, “all things considered. I spend all my time seeking the Triforce, and here all other realms are asking me to recover theirs.”

“The only one you’re a threat to is the Triforce,” she reminded him.

He _hmph_ ed but didn’t argue. “It would be a very different story if I’d known of them in my first few incarnations, when I didn’t know what the repercussions were for taking them away from their native lands. You can’t remove a Relic or it slowly dissolves, along with everything it upholds. If I wanted to rule a mound of ash, I could do that without their help.”

“So who else do you think knows of them?” Rosalina asked.

Ganondorf shrugged his broad shoulders. “You and I, sometimes Zelda. I once warned the council of Corneria about keeping theirs safe, but I didn’t discuss the full effect of it. Lore about the Relics is scattered in broken pieces all throughout the dimensions, so anyone with enough immortality and resources can theoretically do their own research.” He sighed and scratched his chin. “I can think of a few fools who might try their hand at taking them, who have tried to take them before.”

“That doesn’t seem to narrow it down.” Rosalina leaned forward and drew Ganondorf’s hand away from his face. Ganondorf watched in mild interest as Rosalina dragged her thumb over the mark of Power on the back of his hand. It thrummed at her touch. “If only we had gods to ask.”

Ganondorf straightened his palm against hers and met her eyes. “Says the daughter of a goddess,” he said quietly. “You’ve said before that we’re all made of stardust. You, me, the Lumas—we’re part of what they once were.”

Rosalina inhaled and pulled her hand away, hugging Luma again. “I think I’ve told you everything I know,” she said tightly. “Ganondorf, if there’s anything I can assist you with, you have my support. Please get them back soon.”

“With all my power,” he said, standing.

Rosalina shot him a look beneath raised eyebrows. “Humor, Ganondorf? I’ve never heard Hylia’s vessels mention that trait of yours.”

“She and I have very different conversations,” he muttered. Rosalina nodded and walked him back to the platform.

“Be well,” she said seriously. She dropped Luma as Ganondorf bent to kiss her knuckles. Their gaze met as he straightened, and he hesitated near her face, his wide, rough hand touching her cheek for a brief moment before pulling away. Rosalina caught his hand as he turned.

She drew him back, steel behind her cyan eyes. He could see the offense she took at being teased like that. His face split in a grin at the incredulity across her face.

“So you _do_ show emoti—” he began.

She kissed him. He drew her closer, his words stopped by her lips. His arm found its way around her slender waist. Her hair was so bright, her skin almost as fair. It was such a stark contrast to his own complexion, dark and tanned even further in the unrelenting Gerudo sun. He was so much muscle and could be so brutal and she was…

She was more than she knew. Ganondorf threaded his other hand in her hair and deepened the kiss. It had been a long time since he’d shown interest in anyone; the further Zelda got from her original incarnation, the more different she seemed. There were times when he wondered if Hylia herself had changed by being human so long. Few other names stood out in his life—Link, Nabooru, Twinrova—those four were part of the very short list of names he bothered keeping track of. When memories of his past lives inevitably awakened in his soul, he saw how futile and brief personal connections really were. Most of them, at least: she was different.

 _This_ was different, but time was short. “I need to get back,” he whispered against her lips. His fingers traced a line down her spine, and she shivered. “But now that I know…”

She shivered and pushed him away. He smirked as it failed to move him, Rosalina taking a step back instead. She nibbled her lower lip, looking him over. “Dire times,” she agreed.

He would remember this. He would be back, only next time he wouldn’t be shooed away so soon. If he wasn’t needed elsewhere under such hard circumstances, this evening would have gone very different.

She had her duties, and he had his.

“Goodbye, Ganondorf. I’ll see you soon,” she called as he walked away.

What a cruel twist of the gods if that couldn’t be true.

**Termina**  
**1 Day Left**

“Wait a second. You’re telling me that _all_ of the Relics have disappeared?” Zelda demanded as Ganondorf slammed open the Milk Bar’s front door.

The scene was surreal for Link. The four of them stomped into a building straight out of another lifetime, found a table, and ignored all the eyes staring at them. The only thing that seemed different from his memories about the place was its acquisition of more seating and an expanded wall, but the stage and the dim purple lighting behind the counter was very much the same. The barkeep wandered over warily as Ganondorf and Zelda bickered. “Excuse me,” he said anxiously, wringing his hands.

Ghirahim slapped the table, startling the poor man. “Ah, yes. Lost Mead for that one and three margaritas,” he ordered.

The portly old barkeep sputtered and never asked his question. He took one look at the smiling demon, the bickering royalty, and this young green minstrel and decided they must be here for some kind of concert. Ghirahim’s eyes narrowed in satisfaction as the barkeep retreated to safety. Link glanced at Ghirahim as if he was going to say something.

“They’re all for me, sweet boy,” Ghirahim answered preemptively. “Except for the mead.”

“Why didn’t you open with that when I arrested you yesterday?” Zelda asked Ganondorf seriously. “I could’ve helped you.”

“When you neglected to even ask why I was injured on your doorstep, Princess, I didn’t think diplomacy was going to work.” Ganondorf splayed his hands on his side of the table, taking as much space for himself as possible. Ghirahim glanced airily at him and only scooted over on the bench to give him more room. “Our history has been less than pleasant.”

“Agreed,” she conceded. “Normally my problems are all _your_ fault.”

“This time they aren’t,” Ganondorf spat back, “And I don’t _need_ your help. If you’d like to go back to Hyrule, Princess, now’s your chance.”

Link set his hand on the table, drawing the other three’s attention. He eyed Ganondorf and shook his head.

“Hyrule is our responsibility,” Zelda agreed. She followed Link’s gaze back to the Demon King. “If there really is a threat, we want to help.”

Ganondorf exhaled in what could’ve been a growl with a little more applied force. He sat back as the bartender returned with all four drinks, mistakenly distributing the margaritas evenly. Princess Zelda drew hers closer and slapped Ghirahim’s hand when he reached for it. Link tried not to visibly cringe as he pushed his across in an attempt at peace. Ganondorf lifted his mead. “The moblins are still at the Palace,” he mused idly over the rim of his tankard. He took a drink and set it back down. “Princess, there is nothing more you can do by traveling with me. According to the state of the moon hanging over our heads, we have approximately one day before this entire part of the world gets cratered, which means there’s a chance that it’s already too late.”

“So we’re just going to give up?” Zelda challenged.

Ganondorf screwed up his face at the higher pitch her voice took. Link glanced around and noticed that the other patrons had cleared out. He had half a mind to do the same.

Zelda and Ganondorf were scowling again, but this time the Demon King held up his hand for peace. “I didn’t say that,” he amended.

“Tell us everything, Ganondorf.”

“'Everything' would be a little too personal,” he answered sarcastically. He’d omitted the parts about Rosalina and himself when he mentioned their conversation on the way to the bar. “But if you’ll listen, I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

He took another sip and eyed them all.

“I believe Princess Peach stole the Relics.”

Zelda sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Link looked confused. Ghirahim was too busy examining his nails to look interested: he would just tune in when he heard key words like ‘job’ and ‘kill.’ Whether the universe survived or not wasn’t up to him. His Master would either succeed, or everyone would go out with him.

There was no use panicking about it.

“What is your proof?” Zelda asked resignedly. She looked up at the Demon King through her fingers, barely believing that she should hear this. Peach was her friend, and one of the sweetest people she knew. How could she do something so fatal?

“She had the Triforce,” Ganondorf explained. “Princess, I think she stole Power right after you shot me. Knowing you, you probably kept Wisdom in a locked chest somewhere under several wards against evil. Toadstool is neither evil nor incompetent: she knows her magic and is close enough to you that she might know how to break the spells. As for you,” he pointed at Link, “she probably put you to sleep without your knowing.

“This means that mine was the last to be stolen. Wisdom and Courage were gone and I show up at a convenient time and place for you to think I’d done it.” He drained the rest of his tank and slammed it against the table, an indication for the bartender to refill it. “Whether or not this was actual coincidence, it would take a level of foresight and subtlety difficult even for me.”

“If you were already far in the east, then Power was already outside of Hylian lands and Hyrule would’ve started breaking down only the moment Wisdom and Courage disappeared, as well,” Zelda added. Ganondorf nodded approval.

“We’re going to assume my appearance in your Palace was luck, then,” he said. He gave the barest of nods as the bartender set another mug in front of him. “The Triforce seemed to think there and then was a good spot to send me to reverse the damage done. I’ve yet to figure out how.” He glanced around the room, not meeting Zelda’s eyes as he said it. He didn’t like the way her and the Hero’s faces softened as he admitted his lack of a plan. “But I will.”

“Of course,” said Zelda, “and we’ll help you.”

He grunted but said nothing in response.

Zelda noticed the way he eyed the contents of his mug, lost in thought. He dwarfed all of them in size, but his body was still covered from the marks of his past few days—burns, scratches, blackened wrists from the Manacles, singed clothing, a nick on the left ear, and who knew what else—and his hulking shoulders were slumped in what some might’ve mistaken for boredom. To her, he looked afraid.

“Ganondorf,” she said softly.

Ganondorf’s gaze shot up, all vulnerability evaporated.

“Why do you think Peach stole the Triforce instead of asking me?”

“She thinks she’s doing something good with it,” Ganondorf replied. “That’s all I overheard. She has some kind of plan that didn’t get discussed. Bowser is in on it.”

“Is that how you got all those burns?”

“I punched a dragon-turtle in the nose,” Ganondorf replied flatly. “What do you think I got out of it?”

Link whistled appreciatively. Ghirahim slid closer, humming with pleasure. The Hero immediately moved closer to Zelda, a look of abject horror on his face. He needed an adult.

“Stop it,” Zelda snapped at Ghirahim. Ganondorf waved Ghirahim down from retaliating and turned back to Zelda, who primly straightened her dress and downed the margarita she’d been neglecting.

Ghirahim pouted.

“I do know someone who may know something,” volunteered Ganondorf. Zelda looked interested.

“Oh?”

“Twinrova,” he offered. “They’re not the same as their Hyrulean counterparts, but they may be similar enough to know something about the lore of the land. They might know how to stop the moon from collapsing.”

Link shook his head with conviction. “Not them. Him.” He pointed to the front door.

All four of them looked.

He looked like the happiest man in the world: dressed in a purple suit with gold cuffs and extravagant collar, wearing shoes that looked much too stiff for long journeys and an oversized pack that belied that journeys were all they went on, the man was pale, narrow-eyed and pointed-eared, with short, red hair and a smile that showed far too many teeth. Link picked up on the way his eyebrows made an apologetic slope above his eyes. Zelda noticed the stoop with which he walked. Ganondorf noticed his aura, and Ghirahim recognized the masks strapped to his pack.

The effect was immediate: the latter two stood up from the table, knocking over their bench in the process, and stood as if expecting a fight. Ghirahim sizzled at the edges, his skin darkening in little veins of black.

Zelda and Link looked startled. “Ganondorf, what?” Zelda implored.

“What are you doing here?” Ganondorf asked the Happy Mask Salesman coldly. He reached his hand out to Ghirahim, silently closing his fist around the sword’s hilt as it appeared in his hand.

The Happy Mask Salesman cocked his head to the side. “My, my…I’m missing the party,” he said. Something in his tone alerted Link to danger. Link's eyes darted to the barkeep fleeing out the back door. Well, at least they didn’t have to worry about casualties.

The Happy Mask Salesman threw his arms wide and his pack began to glow, shake, and levitate in eerie yellow light. “It has been a long time, Demise!” he cried. “Let’s see how rusty you’ve become!”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *(P.S. - I know an actual happy couple IRL who is basically them, I shit you not. And they're so fluffy with each other it hurts me to watch. And then they go back to being a perfect sociopath and a perfect adorable person toward the rest of the world, like wtf.)
> 
> Leave comments, kudos, whatever! Tell me what you like and don't. It helps me gauge what works and what could be improved. Constructive criticism is totally welcome, and so are one-line opinions. I love you all, and thank you for reading.


	5. Masks and Mirrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this chapter is early. Apparently pulling an all-nighter on tumblr hyped with coffee and oreos somehow turned into a mad four-hour writing spree. I've only re-read this once since writing it; I didn't spot anything glaringly wrong, but I think I'll probably nit-pick at some point while I'm writing more chapters. Anyway, the Triforce babies are finally together! And have issues! And I'm excited because it's also my birthday! So enjoy an early chapter, whoo!

#### Termina

#### 1 Day Left

The Happy Mask Salesman cackled wildly as the lights in the bar grew dim. Shadows lengthened, swallowing the stage entirely in darkness. Zelda and Link rose from their places and stood agape away from Ghirahim and Ganondorf, but also away from their opponent: they stepped backward towards the bar and looked on until they could decide what was happening. Link tensed and drew his sword.

Ganondorf growled: not the ordinary, human-like imitation, but the real thing. His hair looked more like a mane, and his eyes grew bright. His fingernails more closely resembled claws.

“ _Where was this when we were fighting Bowser?_ ” Ghirahim’s voice echoed in Ganondorf’s mind while he remained in sword form, but it fell on deaf ears: the man Ganondorf did not think as calculatingly or clearly when he began to shift; the beast was primarily instinct, an unstoppable force of raw fury and destruction bound up in a chimerical abomination. Ghirahim loved it—the man lost all qualms (not that he had many in the first place). He killed, and didn’t mind what Ghirahim killed. It was almost like old times, but it was not good for strategy or teamwork.

Zelda must have sensed the change as well. She reached up and plucked her bow from the dimensional pocket it was stored in. “Ganondorf!” she screamed.

“Demise!” the Mask Salesman echoed. Manic laughter bubbled up from somewhere inhuman in his chest: it reverberated harmoniously in different pitches all at once. The masks on his pack rose slowly into the air, floating like a halo around him. There were five in all. “What a fitting name for the things about to transpire!”

“Ganondorf!” Zelda repeated, even higher. She did not want to fight a battle on two fronts. “The Triforce, remember!”

“The Triforce, remember,” the Happy Mask Salesman mocked. “Yes, show me how you’re going to get it back. Show me!” He snatched the fifth mask from the air and put it on.

Link ran past Ganondorf. The five masks reacted as follows:

The first was the bronze image of a screaming man. It shot its two unnaturally long strings toward Link as if to wrap him hostage. Ghirahim could have told them how much agony it caused the wearer captured by it. Instead, the princess saw it first and shot it with a Light Arrow, which burst it into a thousand glowing pieces of clay shrapnel.

The second vaguely resembled a koopa. It turned toward the princess and bathed the area near the bar in fire, which also exploded the bottles of alcohol lingering behind the counter. Link noticed the princess move as they exploded, but he lost sight of her in his preoccupation with his opponent. Suddenly the building was on fire.

The third looked like a sad man. Its eyes glowed white as it met Link’s gaze, and suddenly the Hero felt a crippling fear, saw the images of destruction in his mind of Termina and all its parallel lands. It sought to show him the inevitability of his task. For just one split second, Link’s step faltered.

The fourth took the opportunity to attack Link as the wave of shocking images hit him with sudden force. The mask was fractured grey rock, and it turned its eyeless gaze to him as he lifted his foot off the ground mid-charge. It was like he was wearing iron boots. Link fell flat on his face, the Master Sword spinning out of his grip across the floor. In a brief moment of panic, he glanced down and realized that his legs had turned to stone.

The Happy Mask Salesman wore the fifth. The lines on it were a deep, dark red—the color of wine or blood—on a black background. To Link, who was well-travelled, he recognized the mask as a tribute to a protective god of the desert. It was often called on by the goblin races to destroy threats to their village. Link disliked fighting shamans, wary and thankful that they had never successfully called a deific entity to fight him on their behalf. In the precious second between him noticing his feet and turning back to the Salesman, he thought maybe he knew now why it never answered.

Link was not a coward, but courage did not mean fearlessness.

The Happy Mask Salesman’s body lit up with the red glow of the mask. “You have failed,” he declared. His crimson glow intensified, and the fire bathing the building was now catching up to Link’s prone position on the floor. He couldn’t even spare a thought for the princess. He’d been beat, and never had the cost been higher. The Sad Mask knew his failures.

The Salesman’s red glow coalesced into a beam of red light that shot from the mask’s nonexistent mouth. It was a beam that would kill him on the spot. Link cringed at the flash.

Everything went black.

Or rather, everything in front of Link went black. The Hero felt the sweltering heat and smoke of the fire, the tremble of the foundation, someone outside screaming. Suddenly someone was grabbing his arm and yanking him back.

“Hold on to me,” Princess Zelda commanded.

He did immediately as he was told. With its line of sight broken, the Sad Mask no longer crippled Link’s thoughts of action, and he clung to Zelda’s shoulders as she backed them away from the dark, looming figure that stopped the Mask Salesman from turning Link into a greasy stain. Something in Link’s memory triggered at the sight of Demise, dark and terrible and large, filling up the collapsing bar with his presence. The demon’s sword flashed in his hand, humming with dark energy.

The Happy Mask Salesman picked up the Master Sword lying at his feet. He turned it over in his hands and hummed, “The blade of evil’s bane.” His head turned up to Demise and he lifted off the ground, levitating with the Master Sword in his left hand.

“Come at me, then, Old One.”

Demise roared and swung.

“We have to go!” Zelda yelled, dragging Link toward the door. The two heard the Mask Salesman and Demise clash metal against metal over the roar of burning wooden beams. One of them cracked and fell in front of the door, blocking their escape. More smoke billowed up in the sudden shift, and they both fell, coughing.

Link crawled with his stone legs toward the flaming beam. He tried desperately to raise one of them to kick the debris out of their way, but was only marginally successful. Everything below his knee was too heavy, and he was too lightheaded. The smoke was taking its toll.

Zelda knelt next to him and raised her hands, hissing a spell as another piece of roof decided to cave in. It landed miraculously at an angle, leaving them alive but no closer to escape.

“I don’t like dying,” Link admitted innocently, glancing up at her with wide, concerned eyes.

Zelda didn’t know what to say.

…

The Master Sword sang off of Ghirahim every time they connected.

Demise the Demon King was filled with terrible rage. The Happy Mask Salesman wore the face of a minor god over his own, and to add insult to injury, it should have been one of Demise’s subordinates.

“Tick tock,” taunted the Salesman.

“ _Master, I believe he’s referring to the other Vessels,_ ” Ghirahim said into Demise’s mind.

Demise kicked out at the Salesman and traded hands—two could play the southpaw game—and brought his sword toward the Mask Salesman’s side in a fluid upswing. The surprise angle caught his opponent off guard, but not enough to connect. The Mask Salesman floated away from his reach and somehow blocked from one second to the next without even moving; his new pose simply was.

“Master, I advise a tactical regroup.”

“A wise demon!” The Mask Salesman cried enthusiastically. He levitated forward in a charge with the Master Sword as the masks began to circle around Demise. The Demon King backhanded the koopa mask out of the air and shattered it against the wall. In the same instant, Ghirahim jerked Demise’s hand into a parry that would’ve otherwise been too slow. Demise could feel his sword’s strange level of anxiety as the bar continued to come down around them. Somewhere behind him, Demise somehow picked out Link’s small voice amid the din: “I don’t like dying.”

 _Clang._ Another parry. They weren’t winning.

“ _Master…_ ”

Demise shut Ghirahim’s voice out of his head and threw him at the Salesman. The rash act caught both the sword and the Mask Salesman off guard, and Ghirahim hit the mask on the Salesman’s face in full force. Both demon sword and mask wearer tumbled bodily out of the air.

Demise ran.

Words failed Zelda at Link’s quiet admission. No wisdom had a good answer for that: it wasn’t a panicked plea to be saved, nor was it petulant frustration. Link was stating a fact, and despite his full faith in the Hylian gods, burning to death was not an experience either one of them were going to enjoy. Zelda wanted very much to say that she didn’t like dying, either.

She never got the chance.

She was being hauled up by her waist and shoved toward the door. Ganondorf picked Link up and threw him over his shoulder, then slammed his foot into the burning beam, cracking it in half. The three of them escaped out the door, the Demon King leading. Several feet past the threshold, they heard the final throes of the building as it collapsed upon itself, Ghirahim and the Mask Salesman nowhere to be seen.

The people of Clock Town were gathering to look.

A pair of city guards approached the three Vessels. “Let us through!” they cried, parting the crowd. They came face to face with Ganondorf, who still had that feral gleam in his eye and the traces of his Beast-form underbite. He roared, and the two guards tripped over themselves trying to back up.

He dropped Link on the ground and turned wildly toward the crowd, everything so noisy in his head, his inner Beast threatening to take control, the spirit of Demise lurking for the opportunity to rear its violent head. There were too many voices, too much harsh light, too much wind to be home. Everything was overwhelming and compounding the other two forms he could’ve taken, wondering if even a blend of the beast and Demise was possible. He didn’t have Ghirahim’s smooth voice cracking terrible innuendos in his ear. He’d thrown Ghirahim to the wolf that might’ve beaten him. Ghirahim was gone, Ghirahim was gone, Ghirahim was thrown to the wolf that might’ve beaten him.

Everything was overwhelming. He turned wildly to the crowd. Demise was lurking for the opportunity to rear its violent head. Everything was overwhelming. Ghirahim was thrown to the wolf that might’ve beaten him. Ghirahim was gone. Ghirahim was thrown to the wolf.

The Demon King clamped his clawed hands to his ears and roared.

Princess Zelda lifted her hand in a command for the crowd to back up. About half of them were already fleeing; those that stayed did so warily, looking on from a greater distance than they started from. She approached Ganondorf as he hunched over himself, growling. His eyes squeezed shut and he had both hands over his ears. Zelda carefully reached out her hand and forced her voice to remain calm. “Ganondorf…”

The Demon King’s claws twitched over his own ears. Droplets of blood formed where they dug a little too deep into his scalp.

This was not at all like the Ganondorf she knew. Princess Zelda had never seen him this distraught, this at war with himself. “Ganondorf,” she said, louder.

Ganondorf’s golden eyes snapped open and focused very intently on her.

“Do you know where you are?” she asked him tentatively.

He continued to growl, but his hands began to shake. He stared at her as if nothing else around him existed. His mind seemed trapped somewhere else.

Zelda took a few more steps forward. Link raised himself up on his elbows and watched in horror as the princess approached Ganondorf with nothing to stop him tearing her apart. Link could do nothing but watch from a few helpless feet away.

Ganondorf did not move an inch.

“Ganondorf,” she said gently, hovering her hand over his arm. “That is your name, remember?”

Ganondorf stopped growling. His jaw receded back to its normal shape, and something stirred behind his golden gaze besides the predatory gleam of the Beast. The sounds didn’t seem quite so deafening as they did before. Encouraged, the princess went on.

“Do you remember where you are?”

Ganondorf scanned the square. He saw the dozens looking at him, noticed Link gazing up at him from where he was dumped unceremoniously on the ground. The world seemed to trickle back in, heat from the bar fire at his back. He glanced down and saw Zelda’s hand hovering just over his arm.

A flash of embarrassment replaced his confusion. No matter what the circumstances, _pity_ was not a thing he tolerated. Pity was for the weak.

He lowered his hands from his ears and jerked away before she could touch him.

Zelda followed his attention back toward the building. “Where’s Ghirahim?” she asked.

Ganondorf didn’t answer.

Link bit his lip; he didn’t want to intrude, but they had other problems. “Can someone help me up?” he asked reluctantly. Along with Ghirahim, the Master Sword was also missing somewhere back in the rubble, and he wasn't entirely sure that the Mask Salesman was gone yet. He needed it back.

Princess Zelda came forward and helped him to his feet. “Can you stand?” she asked seriously.

He nodded. It wasn’t standing he had as much problem with; it was the fact that everything below his knees was now stone, and walking was impossible. He tried not to think about it too hard; there had to be some solution.

Link and Zelda noticed how unwavering Ganondorf’s attention on the burning shell of the former Milk Bar was. The princess and her Hero exchanged a worried glance.

“Do you think he…?” asked Link softly.

Zelda quietly shushed him.

They stood with her arm around Link’s waist. The townspeople were still wary of coming any closer, and the guards looked too frightened of Ganondorf to do more than stand a few feet behind the trio. Ganondorf drifted toward the building. He said nothing to anyone.

“Ganondorf!”

Ganondorf ignored Zelda. As he approached the building, he noticed something move in the approximate location of the collapsed stage. Parts of the frame were still flaming, but that half was nearly out of things to burn. It was mostly rubble and ruined furniture poking out of charred building materials.

He tensed and climbed over the wreckage toward it.

A mound of ruined cables and cracked concrete rose as something stood up underneath it. A chair leg fell away, revealing a purple pant leg underneath. The Happy Mask Salesman threw off the debris covering him and dusted off his suit. He looked completely normal again despite the soot in his hair, his simpering smile back in place on his too-pale face.

He squinted up at Ganondorf and the smile only grew sharper.

Ganondorf felt rage boil deep in his chest, and he lunged forward to grab the little man by the throat.

“I have what you’ve lost!” said the Salesman enthusiastically, dancing a step back from his reach.

Ganondorf stopped just short of choking him.

The Happy Mask Salesman stooped to gather up something off the ground. The first things he picked up were two halves of the red mask he wore during the fight. It appeared Ghirahim struck it straight between the eyes, cracking it evenly down the middle. The Salesman frowned and tossed the inert pieces aside; Ganondorf wondered curiously if its inhabitant was now free.

The second thing he picked up was a mask Ganondorf had never seen before, although he knew immediately who it was; the mask shined newly, one side blank white so it gave the impression of hair. The eye hole on the opposite side was ringed in purple and heavy lidded, and the mouth was tilted up in a smirk.

Ganondorf gave no sign of his emotions as he stared down at the mask in the Salesman’s hands. His expression was oddly flat as he looked back up into that simpering ginger’s face.

“You can have him, but a merchant never simply gives something away,” said the Salesman brightly.

Ganondorf’s fingers twitched into fists that he lowered to his sides. “What do you want,” he demanded.

Zelda and Link approached slowly, hindered by Link’s current condition. They stood nearby watching Ganondorf’s subdued reaction to the Mask Salesman’s manipulation, Link clinging to Zelda for support.

The Mask Salesman shook his head disappointedly. “Once again, you fail to realize the consequences of your actions before it’s too late, Demise.” He turned Ghirahim’s mask over and over in his hands. “What exactly did you wish on the Triforce when you touched it?”

Ganondorf’s brows furrowed, “To reverse the damage.”

“Wrong!” The Mask Salesman held up a finger to stop him. He then touched a mask on his pack with vertical slits for eyes, and the mask echoed back in Ganondorf’s voice, “To change fate.”

Link and Zelda both looked directly at Ganondorf. Ganondorf only glowered. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything!” The Happy Mask Salesman’s expression changed to one of liquid fury. His eyes opened, and all three bearers of the Triforce could see how bloodshot they were. “You were never supposed to be in charge of fate, Demise! Why do you think they always win!” He pointed at Zelda and Link.

Ganondorf refused to feel intimidated. “I meant to reverse the damage,” he said, but the Salesman was wagging a reproving finger at him.

“You fate-meddling, short-sighted buffoon, Demise! The other gods cursed you for a reason! As they dissolved into the world they created, you and precious few others are left to maintain the status quo! But since all you know is destruction, everyone else had to make sure that you could never win!” He tightened his hands on Ghirahim’s mask. “Don’t you see! We’ve rigged the game! You found the only loophole—wishing on the Triforce! Your own Relic! Otherwise your fate is to be thwarted, and all your lasting hopes smashed against the rocks so that others might survive!” He stomped his foot. “You of all creatures on this plane should understand inevitability! If you succeed in getting something you truly want, the energies of the gods binding the laws of the world together will fracture, and the world will still be doomed!”

Ganondorf fell silent.

“Wait,” interrupted Zelda, readjusting her weight underneath Link’s shoulders. “Explain that again.”

The Happy Mask Salesman’s gaze snapped to the princess. “If Demise is allowed to gather the Relics back to their proper places, the universe will fold, because nothing good can come of his desire. And if you all don’t, the universe will fold, because the Relics are not in their proper places.” He glared at Ganondorf. “Now do you see what careless wishing has wrought upon us?”

A low, gravelly laugh escaped the Demon King. It started as a chuckle then swelled into an echo of madness. The irony of it all! This whole time, he’d never expected a conspiracy like this! This game, this universe—it was all one huge joke.

Zelda tensed, ready for a relapse into his bestial rage. “Ganondorf,” she called sharply.

His laughter faded. “One moment, Princess. I’ll get to you.” He eyed the Salesman with utmost contempt. “You told me you wanted something.”

“I do,” the Mask Salesman pointed to Princess Zelda and Link. “I want them to kill you.”

Ganondorf snorted. “You’ve done a significant amount on them for me.” He eyed Link’s stone legs. “If you think I’m going down quietly…”

The Mask Salesman clapped his hands. His face turned friendly again. “That is exactly what I want to hear! You are written as the villain, Demise. Stay one! Don’t change the script.” He reached behind his pack and pulled the Master Sword from somewhere within it. “Have it back, Hero,” he said. Link jerked as the feeling of dead weight lifted off his legs. They were back to normal. “You’ll need it for an aptly-named enemy!”

Link caught his sword and sheathed it.

Ganondorf glared, confused.

Link turned to Zelda and shook his head. Zelda spoke, “We can settle this later.” To the Salesman: “With all respect, if everything you’ve said is true, he still knows more about the Relics than either of us do. We still need him to find them. Then we can deal with the consequences.”

The Happy Mask Salesman bowed. “The wisdom of Lady Hylia has spoken. I lend my services so that great calamity is avoided,” he explained. “If you really want to save Termina and the other worlds, there is still time, but act quickly. Hero, do you remember my songs?”

Link started to nod, but ultimately shook his head. Ganondorf turned to look at them both.

“Hm…the princess must have incompletely unlocked your past lives, then,” he said. He ambled deftly over the debris and tapped Ghirahim’s mask against Link’s forehead. “Little mortals so forgetful!” And then he slapped Link in the forehead with his palm.

Link gasped and covered his forehead with his hands as images and knowledge rushed through him. Zelda helped him sit down. “Anyone else?” the Salesman asked. “How about you, Princess? I can tell your own awakening is incomplete; if you’d like, I can have you on the ground, as well.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” replied Zelda tightly. She would eventually tease out her own incarnations’ memories in their own time; countless princesses before her had done it by themselves.

Ganondorf stood tense and alone, watching them.

“Ah, yes,” said the Salesman. He turned again to Ganondorf, holding up the mask in his hands. “Here,” he tossed the mask to Ganondorf, who straightened to catch it, “keep this one in line, or the third time he and I meet, I keep him.”

Ganondorf turned the mask over in his hands and ran his fingers over the contours of it. He could feel his sword’s energy in the mask. It felt so familiar in his hands. 

He grabbed both sides of the mask and snapped it.

Ghirahim appeared, shaking as he knelt on the ground. Ganondorf held out his hand. The sword spirit looked up in surprise and took it to stand.

The two dropped hands as soon as Ghirahim was on his feet and walked over to Link and the princess. The Happy Mask Salesman stopped talking as they approached, bouncing on his toes excitedly.

“Remember what I said, you two,” he said brightly, “but for all of you, I say this: some are big, and some are small, but just one Relic can affect them all. To find Termina’s and earn your bread, you have to think above your head.”

“That’s not help, that’s bad poetry,” Ghirahim complained.

“It’s plain enough,” retorted the Salesman. “You four will figure it out, or we will try it again. I pity you, trapped in this loop. You’ve all met a terrible fate.” And between one blink and the next, he simply vanished.

The four heroes looked at each other. “He’s not evil,” Zelda reminded them. “He was able to wield the Blade of Evil’s Bane.”

“Lack of evil doesn’t make someone good,” replied Ganondorf. “Did everyone else catch the meaning of his riddle?’”

“Up there,” said Link, pointing at the moon.

“I came to the same conclusion,” said Zelda, “Now we just have to find a way to get there.”

“I can get us up there,” volunteered Ganondorf. Zelda nodded.

Ghirahim looked back and forth between them. “Master, are you sure?”

Ganondorf met Zelda’s eyes. She stared searchingly back. “Yes,” he said seriously.

Princess Zelda nodded. “Whatever that Mask Salesman said, killing either of you now would only hurt our overall cause. Until it becomes a problem, you’re with us.”

Ganondorf and Ghirahim glanced at each other. At this point, it was to their advantage to play nice. ‘How long,’ remained the question for everybody. If they could determine when their companions would turn on them, proper countermeasures could be taken.

She didn’t want to admit it, but Ganondorf saw a heavy burden in Zelda’s gaze. He could use that to his advantage. Caught between mercy and justice, the princess would wait until the last moment to make her final decision. He was likely to be under intense scrutiny until then, but it gave him time to consider countermeasures to the Salesman’s word.

It was good to finally know why he had never gotten the victories he deserved. With fate written against him, what chance did he have? More than they knew, now that he understood it. Destinies could always be rewritten; it was ignorance that kept people trapped.

So: Hylia would warn Zelda not to let him handle the Relics. Link would be on her side. Having the seeds of his destruction travelling around with him wouldn’t be much different than any other ploy he’d done in the past; the only thing left was to act quicker than they did and hope his wish on the Triforce was enough to affect more than Peach’s rubbish plan.

It wasn’t like they were all friends, anyway. He only thought saving those two during the fight would be somehow useful later. 

All of this was still salvageable. The Salesman was not the only god around here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always thought the Happy Mask Salesman should be a boss fight. Raise your hand if you, too, were creeped out by him when you played.
> 
> Also, even though Ghirahim has more personality (in my opinion) than Fi does, he's still a sword spirit: in battle, I imagine his primary role is function, not charm, which is why he may have seemed a little dry during the fight. I'm so glad my Triforce babes are all in the same room now. It took a lot of words to get here.
> 
> Like always, if you have critiques, feel free to leave them for me. I'll continue tightening up past chapters as I write new ones, but I'll usually note it before each chapter when I do. I imagine little things will continue to evolve as the story swells toward completion. Also, I have no idea how to rate this.


	6. Moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I went back and looked up all the cutscenes of Ghirahim from Skyward Sword, and I'm sure glad I did; I completely forgot that Ghirahim totally calls Link an Omega like a big, huge creeper. (Especially to a fanfiction writer, that is a very loaded word.) Also, I actually posted on Friday...at 6:56am. After staying up all night. Why was this chapter so hard. I'll fix mistakes later, whatever. Enjoy!

#### Termina

#### 16 Hours Left

Even to a layman from Hyrule with the barest knowledge of physics, Termina should have already been destroyed.

“It’s not a real moon,” said Ganondorf and Zelda together. She gestured dismissively for Ganondorf to finish Link’s question. “It’s a temple for a Relic.”

“Or a Relic itself,” Zelda supplied.

Ganondorf grunted in agreement and fell silent as they took the stairs up the Clock Tower. Ghirahim was sheathed at his belt, once again a thick, black sword.

Princess Zelda trailed behind with her Hero. “Temples and Relics, like incarnated gods and restless dead, are not wholly in one solid dimension, but can pass through and linger in any of them.”

Link gave her a blank stare.

“It’s a giant, weird ghost and doesn’t have actual gravity unless it wants to,” she tried.

He nodded uncertainly and looked ahead at Ganondorf. Zelda gave up.

“Have you been to Termina before, Princess?” Ganondorf asked conversationally from several stairs up. He took them two and three at a time and creaked each old step. Zelda wondered what information he was fishing for.

“No, but I’ve been aware of it. Have you?”

“It has little to offer me,” Ganondorf replied.

Zelda threw him a sour look. “That’s hardly an answer, Ganondorf.”

He whirled around and scowled down at her. “And why should I tell you more than that, Princess?” he asked. “You who would have executed me mere hours ago.”

“Right now we have a common enemy,” she shot back. Link saw the hulking giant looming over them and took a half-step in front of the princess. Ganondorf’s feral golden eyes snapped to him, and he began to relax. “Ganondorf, I’m giving you a chance because I want to believe that you’re finally coming around. After all this time, I hoped for you to show some sign of—”

“Don’t you dare say ‘redemption,’” he spat.

“Wisdom,” she said simply.

Ganondorf took another step down. “You need me,” he growled, “because neither of you had any idea how dire the Relic situation was before I told you. I do not mistake our little arrangement for ‘friendship.’ Don’t think I’ve forgotten about my people banished to the desert. Don’t think I didn’t overhear the command of the Salesman to kill me when it’s time. I’m helping you only as long as it suits me.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I don’t mistake your help for anything other than pure selfishness.” Zelda was not about to be intimidated. “Wanting to save the world just so it can be yours. Do you think I’m forgetting about the _thousands_ of Hylians you’ve killed every time you wage war? The hardship you cause in your wake for survivors? You want to talk about _your_ people; what about mine? I wanted to believe in you; now I realize that I don’t have to. There’s nothing in you to believe _in_.”

Ganondorf snarled and twitched his fist. Link raised his shield.

“No,” he said quietly.

Ganondorf looked like he wanted to punch through him. Zelda held the Demon King’s gaze with the unflinching power of her own. The tension was palpable.

It took about the same five seconds for both royal parties to realize this was getting them nowhere. Ganondorf spun and stomped the rest of the way up the stairs; Princess Zelda and Link followed.

“That’s not the first time he’s stopped a fight because of you,” she whispered.

Link shrugged. It bothered him, too; back at the Lake when he was knocked out, Ganondorf could have easily killed him. Instead he left him, which gave Link time to find his way back to Epona and race toward the castle to warn the princess of the attack. Again at the bar, Ganondorf retreated to prevent Link from burning to death. Just then, he’d refrained from fighting Princess Zelda herself because he intervened. He frowned down at his shield and said nothing.

Zelda would never believe it was for anything good.

The serrated Zanbato at Ganondorf’s hip glowed with a fey, red light. _“Master, what are we going to do at the Moon?”_

_“I’m working on it.”_

_“Can we really use it to affect the other Relics?”_

_“I’m working on it. The Salesman gave me something else to think about. No rule exists that can’t be broken.”_

_“Ooh, I love it when you talk like that. Can we double-cross them?”_

Ganondorf reached the top of the Clock Tower as if still fuming over the argument. The return of Ghirahim’s humor was an unexpected relief; he’d been too flat since the Salesman showed up. “Come here,” he commanded the others.

Link and Zelda approached him, the princess distrustfully. It seemed Link was willing to set aside all unsavory discussions until everyone was secured. Ganondorf wasn’t sure if what the little Hero possessed was Courage or incredible naïveté, but it worked to his advantage. Ganondorf balled his hands into fists and looked up at the moon. He could imagine the temple there, the grassy fields, the tree. The breeze there was artificial, a product of the magic that soaked the place, and carried the slight scent of ozone. As the image solidified in his mind, he was surprised to find a power joining his—the princess, insisting on contributing to the teleportation herself. Of course she would. She didn’t like that his magic was sourced from the death and decay and all misfortune in the world.

And just like that, they were there.

Link looked sick from the teleport and ran his fingers through the grass to collect himself. Nature was the boy’s home, and Ganondorf didn’t doubt that he was searching for familiarity in a time things weren’t making much sense. Link wasn’t the type to need to know _how_ something worked; he just wanted to know that it did, and what he could do to fix things when they didn’t. It didn’t make him less intelligent, just simple, and those were two very different things. He probably wouldn’t cause waves as long as he thought Ganondorf was still trying to save the world.

_“Ghirahim, I want you to do something for me.”_

_“Are we double-crossing them now?”_

_“No. Enough with that. Go scout for the Relic that’s supposed to be here.”_

_“Master, I’m detecting it all around us.”_

_“Beautiful.”_

Ganondorf stopped to face them. “We’re inside a Relic,” he announced. “You were right, Princess.”

She tried not to look too smug.

“Why hasn’t it disappeared?” Link asked.

“Excellent question.” Ganondorf did not elaborate.

Zelda perked an eyebrow. “You don’t know, do you.”

“Neither do you.”

“I have never met anyone so defensive,” she complained, “and I’m friends with _Midna._ ”

Link opened his mouth to respond to that but thought better of it.

“So now we have a dilemma,” said Ganondorf, ignoring the interruption. “We might use it to wish the universe normal, but whoever has the other Relics likely thought of someone doing that.”

“What if we wish to find out who did it?” Zelda asked.

“Pointless. We can track down that information ourselves.” Ganondorf looked at them both. “If this moon is on a crash course for Termina and it’s not the Mask’s fault, then someone has already been here and wished it to.”

“Who would do that?” Zelda wondered.

“Someone who would like us to waste time on Termina,” he said. “Someone who might have told Princess Peach about the Relics and convinced her to take them. You’re right, Princess, she’s not capable of real malice, and King Koopa does not possess the overreaching subtlety required to pull off a scheme this big. They’ve been played.”

“Sounds like someone we know,” Zelda scoffed.

Ganondorf snorted. “We’re short on time, Princess. I’m actually asking for your opinion.”

“Let’s wish the Moon somewhere else, then,” Link offered.

 _“No,”_ said Ganondorf and Zelda together. Poor Link fell silent.

“I don’t know, Ganondorf,” Zelda admitted. She was starting to sound desperate. “If you have an idea, just tell us. If you want to save the universe, we’ll figure something out. We can’t work like this.”

Link walked away.

“Princess, I have a list of who it _might_ be. Do you think if I had an idea I wouldn’t just do it?”

_“Master, look at the boy.”_

Ganondorf held up a fist in silent command for silence and turned to look at Link. Zelda followed his gaze.

Link stepped into the tree’s shade and set his hands on the rough bark. “Give the giants strength,” he said softly.

Ganondorf and Zelda gaped and felt a rumbling under their feet. It sounded like footsteps.

“Link…”

“Boy,” said Ganondorf approvingly.

They heard a roar from outside. Everyone was knocked off their feet as the slow descent of Termina’s moon halted.

“Is everyone okay?” Zelda asked.

Ghirahim appeared on his feet next to Ganondorf. The Demon King grabbed his servant’s shoulder and pulled himself back up.

Link looked pleased with himself.

“I vote we return to Bowser’s Castle,” said Ganondorf. “It’s where this started. It’s where I intended to go before I got sidetracked. Pretty soon there won’t be enough of Hyrule left to save because you two cared about _side quests_.”

“I can’t warp us from so far away,” Zelda retorted.

“Neither can I,” echoed Ganondorf, “so we have to ride. Every minute matters now. I don’t care if another dimension is falling apart as we speak. I care about the whole.”

“Just keep reminding everyone why the gods cursed you,” Zelda snapped.

Ghirahim shifted his weight and brushed his hair from his eyes. “Excuse me, everyone, but…and this is very important, so can I have everyone’s attention? I don’t ride _horses_.” He smirked and met Link’s eyes.

Zelda shot Ghirahim a glare as Link took a step closer to her.

_“Ghirahim, no.”_

_“Ghirahim yes. You haven’t let me have fun in days. Someone has to levy the mood, Master.”_

_“She’s impossible to work with.”_

_“Would Princess Rosalina agree with you?”_

Ganondorf stilled. Ghirahim’s smirk grew as he sauntered toward Link and Zelda. “My Master and I have a compromise for you,” he said. “If any other realms are in immediate danger, the boy and I will stay behind. That way the princess can keep her eye on what she perceives as a threat, and I get away from the bickering exes.” He ran his tongue across his teeth.

Zelda cast Link a doubtful glance. “What do you say, Link?”

Ganondorf hardly called what Demise and Hylia had during creation ‘a relationship’ in the usual sense of the word, but he couldn’t deny the angry tug of war between them dissimilar to a breakup. She made him angrier than anyone else made him just by existing, though he had never had—nor ever will—any attraction to the princess herself. As natural as the forces of creation and destruction forging the universe seemed in mythology, the only thing their human incarnations did was strongly disagree with everything the other did. It wasn’t even sexy, it was just irritating. As if on cue, Zelda perked an eyebrow at him for staring too long.

He’d been so lost in thought, it took him a second to realize Link had agreed to Ghirahim’s proposal. A wave of his sword’s preening gave it away.

_“Ghirahim, if I didn’t admire the manipulation you just pulled, you would be in pain right now.”_

_“I never like to leave you disappointed, Master.”_

_“Ghirahim!”_

Ghirahim chuckled aloud and threw an arm around Link’s shoulders. “My dear Omega, we’re going to have such fun.”

Zelda began to say something, but Link actually waved her down. “I’m _your_ champion, remember?” he said with a small smile.

Zelda smiled wryly back and backed off.

“It’s settled, then!” Ghirahim cried happily. “I have the boy, you two get to argue away from everyone else. It’s perfect.”

“Only if another realm is currently falling apart,” Zelda reminded him.

“Of course,” he grabbed the hem of his red cloak as he bowed. Ganondorf tapped his foot and growled.

“Right. Leaving,” Zelda agreed. “The Moon is secure, yes?”

“Yes,” Link assured her.

“Ganondorf, get us down.”

Ganondorf’s growl deepened.

Zelda stared at him a second. “Please,” she said finally.

Ganondorf looked to Ghirahim. “Get us back to Overworld. We can get to Mushroom Kingdom from the Lost Woods, or as close to the eastern border as you can.”

“Take us to Kakariko Village. We need horses,” said Zelda.

Ghirahim clapped his hands together. “One portal to Kakariko coming right up,” he said. “Master, Princess, your aid is appreciated.”

Ganondorf clapped a hand on Ghirahim’s shoulder. Zelda tentatively set a hand on his opposite side. The three of them closed their eyes and concentrated in unison.

Link felt a nauseating weightlessness for the third time that day, and this time left him so tired he landed on his face. The spell seemed to have a similar effect on everybody else.

“I don’t think I’ve slept recently enough,” Zelda complained.

Ganondorf had to agree. Time passed a little differently between the worlds sometimes, and it seemed that Hyrule had gone an entire day without them. It was dawn in the dusty streets of Kakariko Village, and the wind blew gently from the north. No lights were on in any of the shops.

Ghirahim looked like the only one unaffected.

“Bang on the inn’s door for us,” Ganondorf commanded.

As Ghirahim sashayed off, Zelda and Link wandered over to the Demon King and stood there uncomfortably. Riding all day, teleporting, and fighting a god had kept their adrenaline up, but Ganondorf hadn’t slept since before the attempted heist at Hyrule Castle, and neither Link nor Zelda had slept last night, either. They were now five days from Ganondorf’s present, had spent three days uselessly running around in circles it seemed, and were little closer to actually solving anything. Ganondorf didn’t like the anxious knot forming between his lowest ribs. He thought of Rosalina waiting for him to return.

_‘Your fate is to be thwarted, and all your hopes smashed against the rocks.’_

He shook his head and jerked a step back.

Link frowned in concern. Zelda looked alarmed.

“Ganondorf?”

“I’m fine,” he said dismissively. He saw Ghirahim waving at them from the inn’s door and strode over to the building. The other two followed wearily.

The innkeeper had two available rooms. They would all have to share, unfortunately.

Link put down money before any of them could protest. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he volunteered. “Do you have extra blankets?”

He did. Link, Zelda, and Ganondorf trooped up the stairs and eyed the rooms with varying levels of relief. Link didn’t even bat an eye as he bedded down on his pack and shield and layered his pallet on the floor with blankets. Zelda paused beside Ganondorf before she followed Link into the room: “If you leave while we’re asleep, our cease-fire is over.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Ganondorf answered smoothly. “Good night, Princess.”

She gave him one final look and shut the door on her and Link.

Ganondorf immediately grabbed Ghirahim’s sleeve and pulled him aside. “I need to speak with you.”

“Aloud?” he asked in surprise.

Ganondorf shook his head. The two shut the door to their room and Ganondorf sat on the straw-stuffed mattress with a soft _whump_. _“There is a list of people I need you to find for me within the next six hours.”_

_“What has you so on edge, Master?”_

_“You mentioned her earlier.”_

_“Princess Zelda, Master?”_

_“No.”_

_“Princess Rosalina?”_

Ganondorf met his eyes more intently.

_“Oh…OH. I can see how your relationship with her could be an issue.”_

_“Right now I’m also concerned about her safety. If we don’t get the worlds fixed as they should be, our relationship will be as significant as a needle in the desert.”_

_“Sometimes a needle can make a traveler’s journey very painful,” Ghirahim replied._

Ganondorf snorted. _“The point is, I have an answer to your constant questions about a plan. I need your help.”_

There was a pause.

_“Ghirahim, speak.”_

_“You surprised me, Master. You said you needed my help.”_

_“How is that relevant_ at all _?”_

 _“Demise would never have said that.”_ Ghirahim rubbed his chin and looked at Ganondorf thoughtfully. _“I have noticed differences between your past and present selves. You and Princess Zelda are not carbon-copy personalities of your previous incarnations. You truly are new people with the same old souls.”_

 _“Reflections for another time, Ghirahim,”_ Ganondorf muttered.

Ghirahim gave a little flourish with his hand as he bowed. _“As you wish, Master. What are your orders?”_

_“I’ve been thinking since it was mentioned earlier: who would have the overreaching aims and subtlety to use Bowser in a scheme like this? What would they want to accomplish with it if they knew so much about the Relics?”_

Ghirahim tapped his foot. _“Someone who knows lore and thinks crafty? Zant is not a bad choice.”_

_“Bah, Zant is a pushover.”_

_“Says the Demon King and God of Destruction,”_ sassed Ghirahim.

_“Fine. But why? What’s the motive?”_

Ghirahim came up blank. He shrugged helplessly.

 _“Find me The Artist and the moblins,”_ said Ganondorf. _“Ensure they made it out of Hyrule Castle alive. I want you to tell them to meet me in the east outside of Bowser’s Castle and wait for me to come out. Find Zant and send him to the Moon. Tell Rosalina that Vaati knows about the Relics. Find Vaati and tell him an actual mastermind knows how to obtain real power—he’ll know it’s me. You may find him going by the name Nightmare now. Kick his teeth in. Make him angry. Return to me afterward. Do you understand?”_

_“Master, what are you doing?”_

_“I need everything to go wrong,”_ said Ganondorf seriously. The sun was shining over the edge of the horizon and bathing the room in soft, golden light. Ghirahim closed the curtains, and when he looked back, the Demon King was smiling with all his teeth.

_“Let’s make them disastrous for me, yes?”_


	7. A Needle in the Desert

#### Kakariko Village, Hyrule

#### 5 Days from the Present

He smelled sharp electricity and the metallic tang of blood.

Lightning flashed over a dark, ruined landscape. Ganondorf stood alone on a red plain under a low-hanging sky of thunderheads; it was the same in all directions save a few dead trunks and minor dips in the dirt, but he thought something felt familiar about it. Those peaks in the distance, that pile of stone rubble—it was Hyrule.

Ganondorf felt the knot under his ribs blossom into cactus-sized anxiety throughout his whole chest. Was this an image of past wars, or a premonition of the future?

He thought of calling out to Ghirahim, to his mothers, to Link—not for help, for confirmation. Was the Comet Observatory like this? He thought he could fix whatever he was up against. It was only because of this stupid curse that everything fell to ruin! It was all the gods’ fault! He hated them!

A low, rumbling laugh like the coming of a storm drew him to turn around. Ganondorf paused. 

_“I was worried I’d gone soft.”_

Ganondorf looked up, and up. Demise stood before him in all his dark glory, red hair aflame and skin like the black scales of a dragon, their shine reminiscent of oil. The god looked down at his incarnation.

_“You’re allowing petty concerns get in the way of lasting goals.”_

“I don’t want this,” said Ganondorf, gesturing out behind him at the landscape.

Demise snorted and circled him with heavy, thundering footsteps. _“You act like you and I are different, King Ganondorf. I am your soul. You are nothing but a vessel of mortal memories and associations that house me. If part of you didn’t want this, the Golden Land could have never become the Dark World.”_

Ganondorf had no reply to that.

_“Only recently has something changed. Why should I care about the end of the world, Ganondorf? Gods don’t fear the apocalypse, only humans do.” The dark god paused. “Do you fear your death?”_

“I fear nothing,” Ganondorf replied.

_“You fear failure.”_

“Then so do you.” The Gerudo met his eyes. “We’re not different, remember?” Lightning clapped somewhere in the distance. Demise looked nonplussed.

 _“You’re me and extra…nonsense. Concern for a fallen comrade. Confusion over a boy. Attachment to a…”_ Demise trailed off and huffed an irritated breath. Despite his hair being flames, they gave off neither warmth nor light.

_“Are we really doing this for more than ourselves?”_

“I can change fate,” Ganondorf insisted, steering the subject. “If that is what it takes to change the narrative, then yes. The curse you placed on the bearers of the Triforce gave us time to deal with the greater one the gods placed on us. Did you know about that?”

_“No. At the time I merely wanted revenge.”_

“So do I. Through my eyes you have seen that not all mortals are cowards. From the very beginning you admired the Hero of Time for proving it to you first. If anyone has a chance against the gods, it’s the mortal, not the god, with the freewill to do so.” Ganondorf took a step toward Demise and the god stopped, curious. “In a sense, that makes me greater than you will ever be.”

Demise’s lip curled into a sneer. _“You think you’re so clever,”_ he hissed.

“I am,” said Ganondorf. “I am the Demon King. I am Gerudo. I am you. And I am the chosen bearer of Power.”

_“You know they’ve set us up to fail.”_

“Then let them come!” Ganondorf curled his hands into fists. “For once, I will have everything and it won’t turn to dust! I know who’s behind this.”

Demise chuckled. Ganondorf continued to stare at him, but the god let out a roaring laugh and nearly doubled over with the force of it. The image was jarring. As the laughter echoed over the desolation, Ganondorf heard in his mind: _“Figured it out, have you?”_

“With the proper motivation, anyone will do anything,” replied Ganondorf.

Demise continued to laugh. _“An interesting way to put it,”_ he admitted, _“I do surprise myself sometimes. I had no idea there were advantages to taking on a mortal mantle when I cursed the three of us to an endless cycle of reincarnation. They all seemed so pathetic.”_

Ganondorf smirked.

Demise straightened and met his eyes. _“You care for the wish goddess far more than you let on.”_

Ganondorf opened his hands. “Why would I tell anyone my weaknesses?”

 _“Indeed.”_ Demise nodded approval and threw everything in complete darkness, _“But I’d prefer it if we had none at all.”_

Lightning flashed again, and the dream evaporated.

In its place was one much more familiar: blonde sands, wide canyons, a settlement built into the rock. Horses were tethered to wooden poles outside of a practice ring. Women in loose pants and topaz jewelry fought with scimitars spelled not to do lethal damage. 

It was midday. Ganondorf felt small compared to everyone there. He was eleven, maybe twelve years old, but even back then his hands were beginning to callous. He held a knife in each hand, and his bare toes curled in the loose, rust-tinted dirt.

He remembered this day. His usual tutor backed out of the ring to join the archers a few rounds ago, and the one that had recently joined them stepped in. Witches and mothers, Kotake and Koume, looked on in appraising interest as he faced this new teacher that they summoned.

“Again, little prince. Stop leaving your soft middle open to attack.”

Ganondorf growled in frustration, his violently red hair pulled back in a ponytail. At times he hated this demon. Ghirahim stood opposite, looking much the same as always except he’d forgone the red cape and fencer’s style for a crouching knife-fighter’s stance. His arms were black to his elbows and his white hair shone absurdly bright in the desert sun. The kid thought Ghirahim might’ve tilted his head just to blind him with it—that seemed like the sort of thing the self-elected Demon Lord would do on purpose.

Prince Ganondorf inhaled deeply and let it out in a long exhale. No pressure. Ma-Kotake and Ma-Koume and a steadily-growing number of tribe-sisters were watching, and any one of them would see any mistakes that he made. It wasn’t like they had ever beaten him, either—but somehow that was less comforting than he wanted it to be. There were no longer the sounds of other spars on the field, and he told himself that it was okay. He was power. He was stealth. Ganondorf clutched his blades as a trickle of sweat ran down the side of his dark, young face.

Every moment was one second closer to his humiliation.

“Guard up, sweet prince!” Ghirahim called. For one instant, Ganondorf knew he’d seen the tilt of those shoulders a thousand times for the same attack. Without thinking, he left his senses open to where Ghirahim was about to appear, side-stepped where white and red diamonds began to shimmer in midair, and kicked sand toward the demon’s face as Ghirahim blinked into existence behind him. Ghirahim looked disgusted as he caught a mouthful of dust. Ganondorf followed up with his knife.

Ghirahim growled and caught the twelve-year old’s wrist, yanking him into the hard heel of his opposite hand.

“If you were _anyone_ else…!”

Ganondorf coughed and collapsed forward as Ghirahim let go. The whole canyon blacked out as he felt sick. He stayed on his knees.

He should have taken Ghirahim’s advice. He left himself open, again. He managed to look up from his knees in time to see the crowd disperse, all his sisters looking away from him in his inglorious defeat. He saw Nabooru and his little heart sank as she kept her eyes averted; even she avoided him out of pity, or out of shame of association. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

Kotake came forward as Ghirahim sauntered lazily over to Koume so they could speak in private. Kotake’s icy hands were soothing on Ganondorf’s chest, and the nausea subsided. “Get up, dear.”

Ganondorf stood. The aches lessened from Kotake’s healing magic, but he could still feel where nasty bruises were going to form on his ribs, anyway. “I want to try again, Maha,” he insisted.

“No.” Kotake’s tone was firm but gentle. “You will reclaim your honor in tomorrow’s challenge. Think on your shame and make it teach you to be better. Dinner for you tonight, but no breakfast.”

The scene froze and dimmed. “They were rather harsh on you, weren’t they?” said a rather gentle, monotone soprano.

The image of Koume and Ghirahim gossiping on the side fizzled out as Rosalina walked through them in her long, cyan gown. Ganondorf sighed.

“No breakfast wasn’t a punishment. We don’t eat before spar or battle,” he explained. He looked her over curiously. “What are you doing here?”

“Ghirahim just told me that Nightmare knows about the Relics.”

“I must have been sleeping a while already, then,” Ganondorf mused. “I told him to tell you.”

“I assumed.” She walked up and set her hands on his chest. “You’re scheming again.”

“ _Scheming_ , she says.” Ganondorf snorted and brushed away his childhood with a flick of his wrist. Clouds replaced it all; they were standing on one in the middle of a serene, blue sky. “She is surprised that the Demon King schemes.”

Rosalina thumped his chest. “I’m not surprised,” she retorted, “just curious. I was visited about an hour ago by your…”

“He’s just my sword, Rosalina. Don’t make it weird.”

She chuckled. “I didn’t realize how long he’d been with you. He’s more like your family than a weapon. He taught you how to fight?”

“He stomped me every day under Twinrova’s direction until I began turning the tide. Ghirahim has always been part of Gerudean oral history. They told me that he was forging me into a legend.” He brushed a lock from her face. “Family’s too strong a word, though. I think of killing him far too often.”

“No, I picked the right word.”

“Let’s stop talking about Ghirahim,” Ganondorf said quietly. “My past has passed. Let’s talk about you.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Fine. How about you tell me what you’re up to?”

Ganondorf rolled his eyes and let her go. “The thing I’m best at: ruining everything.” He swaggered a few steps away, raking a hair through his mane. There were lines of tension under his eyes despite his flippant tone. His brows were deeply furrowed.

Rosalina drifted after him patiently. “How does _that_ work?” she asked. Ganondorf wondered if she understood the actual meaning to his words. Could she tell what his plans were while she was here in his dream, inside his head?

“I miss you,” he said suddenly.

“Ganondorf…”

“That’s what you want to hear, isn’t it?” He turned toward her, and she was taken aback by the feral look in his eyes. “You see something that isn’t just the Demon King. You want confirmation. Well, here it is: I miss you.”

“What are you doing? Why can’t you just tell me what the plan is?”

“Because if all the gods cursed me to fail, it could have included you.”

“You don’t seriously think—”

“I think all the time, Rosalina.”

“I’m not Hylia, Ganondorf! Just tell me the truth!” she demanded.

“I am, Princess.”

“You’re evading! That’s not…” And then she paused.

She stared at him.

He saw the exact moment when it all clicked.

“ _Oh_ ,” she said.

He inclined his head.

“This whole apocalypse has a strange note to it, have you noticed?” she asked. “It’s almost like someone is motivated to break things.”

“Maybe they just want to watch the world burn,” Ganondorf suggested.

“Maybe,” she agreed. She walked to the edge of the cloud and tucked herself under Ganondorf’s arm. They wound arms around each other’s waist as they looked down into green Hylian lands. “Or maybe they have something they can’t get another way.”

They watched the Comet Observatory drift over Hyrule in the air far below. They seemed miles above it all, but the dreamscape was always funny like that: distance didn’t really mean anything to a dream, did it.

“…I am cursed,” he said after a pause.

Rosalina hummed agreement. “And I am a goddess of wishes. I make things happen.”

Ganondorf smiled. “Everyone’s been talking to me in my dreams tonight.”

“You’re a hard man to find,” she confided. She rested her cheek on his shoulder as she gazed outward. “Dreams are about the only way to contact you these days, and you haven’t slept well recently.”

Ganondorf pressed his lips tenderly to her temple. “Well, to tell you the truth, and something no one else has heard, dreams are all I have.” He wrapped his other arm around her and held her as they stood above the world. “It isn’t like any of them come true for very long.”

“Victories are not cherished for their permanence,” she replied, but didn’t talk again for a while, content.

Ganondorf thought that sounded beautiful. It was also very unhelpful. Ganondorf had a habit of not listening to unhelpful words, beat into him during years of not having a quit option. He thought he might actually like something permanent.

The Demon King held her closer. This time, he didn’t let the dream fade away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize. When I started this fic, I thought there was going to be smut. If that's what you came here for, I'm sorry. The more I wrote, the less it tonally fit. I'm going to tell you now--if I do include it, it's going to be more of an afterthought, or a consequence of how things turn out, and not the focus of the story. That's why my tags keep changing, because it turned out differently than expected. Because I wrote this for two reasons: to explore Ganondorf's character, and as a continuity exercise. That said, if you really want explicit, shoot me a message and, idfk, I'll probably have my next fic include it or focus on it. It's just that I write unpublished RP trash so much that the need for it in fic writing kinda...dwindles.
> 
> Anyway, there it is. I don't know what people come here looking for, so leave a comment and let me know what brought you here. Or tell me something that you like about it. I can't tell if all those views are actually a lot of people or if they're, like, the same twenty over and over. So let me know! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. See y'all next week!


	8. Cracks in the Shell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it took me a while to get this chapter up. In an ever-ongoing quest to improve my writing and work through some personal issues, I had to take a little hiatus. I can't decree that chapters will resume being exactly one week apart, but I can promise that I will get them up as quickly as I can. I worked this hard to get it this far; I'm not going to just abandon this story indefinitely. As always, please leave a comment, kudos, or helpful criticism; any and all are welcome.

#### Chapter 8

#### 4 Days from the Present

Dusk was in its final throes when Ganondorf woke up alone in his bed. It cast the room in soft blue tones, an exact contrast to the sharp, red heat of Gerudo Valley. He shivered in Kakariko’s chill and dragged himself from his bed, rustling the mattress. His head hurt, and sleep clung painfully to his eyes. Ganondorf splashed water on his face from his canteen and silently shrugged on his clothes. His black sword rested in its hilt against his nightstand, and at his touch the weapon began to thrum with power in his hand.

Ganondorf’s voice was low: “Report to me, Ghirahim.”

_“You were sleeping, Master. I did everything you asked and came right back, except…”_

_“What?”_

Ghirahim sounded reluctant. The last time that happened, they were losing a bar fight with a god. _“Vaati and Princess Rosalina did not react the way we were hoping. I saw her in your dreams.”_

_“Do **not** watch my dreams, Ghirahim. Those are private.”_

_“How could you accuse me of that! I was only drawn by the conversation with your soul. I left the moment I noticed Princess Rosalina’s presence.”_

_“Fine. What of Vaati?”_

_“I found him as Nightmare, as you said. But someone else found him first.”_

Ganondorf’s hand tightened on the hilt. “The Salesman.”

_“I couldn’t have stayed. You know what he threatened me with, Master. **Master** , what do we do now?”_

The rising pitch in Ghirahim’s tone deepened Ganondorf’s scowl. Even though it was telepathic communication, his brain interpreted it no less shrilly.

Someone knocked.

Ganondorf unceremoniously shoved Sword Ghirahim into the sheath at his hip and stomped over to his door, yanking it open. Link stood there and lowered his hand from the door.

“What do you want?” Ganondorf growled.

Link looked up at him. “The horses are ready,” he said. Perhaps it was a result of spending most of his time alone in the forest, but the way Link spoke, too loud or too soft, suddenly and hoarse and always as if it was a foreign thing to him, emphasized the ‘otherness’ Ganondorf saw in him. It was easier to tell what Link was thinking by the tilt of his head or where his hands were, and right then they were lowered between them, like a drawbridge—open for business but easily raised to shut him out.

“I’ll be down in a moment,” Ganondorf replied. Link nodded and turned to go, frowned, and stopped. “Ganondorf,” he began.

Ghirahim’s curiosity pricked at Ganondorf’s brain, and he had to agree with him: a second passed between them and the Hero, then another. Link blinked a few times, looking distantly over his shoulder toward the Demon King until finally blurting, “I don’t get you.”

Ganondorf tilted his head. “You’ll have to be more specific, boy.”

“I don’t get you.” Link turned and faced him fully, his brows furrowed. The drawbridge had gone up. “Everything about you—how you take whatever you want, why power is so important, why you…spare me. Unless I’m in your way.” He met Ganondorf’s eyes. “I see it, but I don’t get it.”

“You wouldn’t like it even if you did,” Ganondorf answered.

Link shook his head disparagingly. “I don’t like bullies. You’re a bully to the Princess and the kingdom. I’ll stop you if you hurt them, but I can’t tell if I hate you. You’re too familiar to hate.” He let go of whatever he was thinking and shrugged. “Don’t make us fight if we don’t have to.”

“I don’t make you do anything,” said Ganondorf. He stepped smoothly past Link and headed for the stairs. “Although, if you really care about why things are the way they are, I might tell you some history on the road.”

“Please,” said Link.

The stairs creaked under Ganondorf’s massive form as he descended the narrow corridor. His shoulders nearly brushed the walls on either side and would’ve stopped anyone coming the opposite way, but he entered the commons downstairs and swept his gaze over only one patron and the bartender among the antler-themed décor. Both avoided looking at him as he tromped outside.

The ambience of keese and crickets and frogs met him in the dark. Lanterns decorated shops’ porches and horses neighed occasionally as their handlers finished shutting them in their stalls. Princess Zelda stood with their own three horses, dressed in local-print riding leather and a pair of moccasins, her long hair pulled back in a braid.

“That’s cute, Princess. Did you steal those as taxes off a villager?”

The princess rolled her eyes and tightened the strap on her mustang’s saddle. “Don’t start with me already, Ganon. I only have so much patience.” She eyed him with unmasked dislike.

Ganondorf walked over to the largest of the horses and introduced his hand to her muzzle. The painted mare swished her tail and stepped into his touch. “That’s a shame. It takes four days to get to Bowser’s Keep from here across some very rocky terrain. If you’re already losing patience, I can’t imagine what you’ll be like by the time we get there.”

Zelda frowned at the painted mare’s ready acceptance of her rider. “Who knew the Demon King liked horses better than his fellow man,” she said.

“A horse can do nothing more than be a horse,” replied Ganondorf cordially, stroking the mane. “A good horse is judged by its ability to serve and listen to its rider, if it’s tamed. A human, or a Zora, or a Goron, is a willful, decision-making entity, a child of gods. Man or woman, they can choose to be great, or they can choose to be tools.” He looked Zelda over, but his golden eyes rested primarily on hers. “Most fall into one category.”

They were interrupted by Link swinging the inn door shut and the crunch of gravel as he approached. He looked at them both expectantly.

“We’re ready to go,” answered Zelda to his silent question. She climbed onto her horse and settled into her saddle, eyeing Ganondorf once more. “I wonder if it gets lonely, being a classification of one.” She flicked her reigns and started off.

Link didn’t ask. The sullen glare Ganondorf shot her as he followed on his mount was more than enough to keep his curiosity sated. The silence stretched over them as the three riders took off under a canopy of stars, and the whistling wind through the canyon brought another wave of unwelcome cold.

Ganondorf hunched his shoulders and huddled closer to his saddle. The boulder-heavy trail took them east, and down, the slope getting worse but punctuated more frequently with little spots of grass while they neared the border. Hot food would have been nice before they left, or more adequate sleep; neither the Princess nor the Hero rubbed their hands or tucked their elbows quite as close as they rode.

It wasn’t like the desert didn’t freeze at night. His nights when he was young were his tribe-sisters bundled up collectively in their adobe dens with fires glowing in the watch towers for the sentries. By day, he and other children gathered paddies from the horses for fuel. Despite their smaller statures, the princess and the hero did not shrink uncomfortably in a silent defense every time another breeze ruffled them. Link glanced Ganondorf’s way, but the Demon King stared ahead, avoiding those clear, blue eyes.

“Ganondorf,” called Zelda suddenly. She pulled back her reigns and stared in alarm at the side of the trail.

The boys caught up to her a few feet later. “Something good,” hoped Ganondorf aloud. He followed her line of sight to a sheer fissure in the rock extending as far up the canyon as they could all see. It was several inches wide, and a quality of black Ganondorf couldn’t adequately describe. Occasionally little flickers of lightning flashed through it.

“I can’t…” said Zelda in confusion, blinking to clear her vision. “Is that me, or is it really that dark?”

“It’s void,” said Ganondorf. He patted his painted horse and dismounted to check it out. Both other Piece-Bearers followed.

The night around the crack in the rock couldn’t compare to the depth of nothingness within. Ganondorf blinked several times as well, just to make sure his eyes were working. Link warily pulled up a blade of grass and held it to the opening of the fissure, as Zelda and Ganondorf stood back to watch. He stopped when half of the blade had gone through; when he pulled it back, the other half was simply gone.

Link stared at the nothingness for several seconds too long, his hand with the remaining part of the grass held close to his chest. There was no break or violent cut where the grass ended; it might’ve been cut with a scalpel.

The fissure went as high as they could see: was there anything left of the earth inside?

“Let’s keep moving,” commanded Ganondorf urgently. He set a hand on Link’s shoulder and yanked it back hard enough to make him stumble. Zelda glared, but the hero himself looked up at Ganondorf and gasped, breathing again. They got back on their horses and rode on.

“The end of the world,” said Zelda after a long moment of silence.

“If we don’t do something,” agreed Ganondorf.

Link said nothing.

The sound of hoof beats and rattling saddlebags echoed off the trail and was only sometimes accompanied by the piercing cries of keese hunting for dinner. All three Bearers took turns staring mistrustfully at the aggressive little devils, but their eyes darted more frequently to the rocks and cliffs, searching for more little cracks in the crust.

“Another one,” said Ganondorf, pointing to a pool of void that had swallowed up a patch of grass about as big around as Zelda’s hand. Link kicked Epona’s sides and caught up to the princess, leaving Ganondorf alone in the back. He couldn’t hear what they discussed, but the only relevant conversation right now would have had to do with the effects on the land. Nothing else mattered, not even keeping Ganondorf closely monitored.

Besides, if this nothingness was their fate, what consequence could the Demon King muster that didn’t end in his own disaster?

 _“I want my Omega,”_ Ghirahim complained. _“If I’m going to die, I want the joy of piercing him first.”_

“Don’t make me think about that,” Ganondorf muttered under his breath. His voice carried farther in the canyon than he intended; Link glanced back with a curious tilt and a frown, and Zelda only paused their conversation to follow Link’s notice. Ganondorf waved them down. “Ghirahim,” he said dismissively.

Link and Zelda hastily went back to their conversation.

_“I’m wounded, Master. No one wants to play with me.”_

_“To be fair, Ghirahim, playing with you is a generally detrimental move.”_

The amount of pouting that rolled off his sword brought Ganondorf some temporary relief from their problems, but trailing behind Link and the princess through a hollow canyon became quieter as they rode. Ganondorf watched a keese chirp as it flew over a cliff face and abruptly go silent. Link and Zelda both turned their heads, and no more talking ensued until the land opened up into a grass-covered valley.

“That’s the border,” Zelda commented to her hero, pointing at the bridge spanning a river. “It’s called the Mirror Bridge because of the water. My great-grandmother built it.”

“Another queen Zelda?” Ganondorf asked drily. Zelda shot him a scathing glance over her shoulder.

Link shook his head and rode ahead of them both. He relaxed in the open air, with a field of grass under his feet and the cold eastern wind in his hair. Zelda and Ganondorf caught up to either side of him and flanked his approach to the bridge.

Two Hyrulean guards hastily came out of a small, wooden guard house on the near bank. On the far side, two armed Mushroom guards did the same. The first of the Hyruleans snapped to attention as he recognized the royalty before him.

“Good evening, soldiers. At ease,” greeted Zelda.

The second of the guards hastily resumed pulling back her hair, her eyes red and puffy. The first guard glanced quickly at Ganondorf. “Is he with you, Your Majesty?”

Her lip curled slightly. “Yes, he is,” she admitted. “We’re passing through on business; don’t tell anyone we were here.”

“Have you noticed anything strange?” Ganondorf barked from his saddle.

The harshness bought the attention of all four border guards. The Mushrooms and the Hyruleans all glanced uncomfortably at one another.

“We don’t have time for pleasantries. Speak!” Ganondorf ordered.

“Lots!” cried one of the little Mushroom guards over the bridge. “Big gaping holes near the border, all within the past week!”

“One of them opened like a sinkhole two days ago and swallowed one of Mushroomland’s sentries when they went to fill everyone’s water,” added the second Hyrulean soldier, pointing downstream, “Sergeant Toader.”

The Mushroom guards on the bridge bowed their heads.

“What’s going on?” asked her partner.

Princess Zelda held her reigns tight. “Something we’re going to fix,” she said seriously. “I admire all four of you for not leaving your post in this difficult time. My champions and I are on our way to correct the source of the problem. In the meantime, please keep yourselves and any travelers coming through this way as safe as possible.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” said the guards.

Zelda led their horses across the short truss bridge and past the small Mushroom guard house on the other side. “Should we investigate the hole?” she asked Link and Ganondorf.

Link shuddered and steeled himself to go through with it, but Ganondorf shook his head. “Why? Every minute we spend examining a void rift in the world is one less we’re spending on getting rid of them. The only way to fix this is to return the Triforce. Let’s keep moving.”

“We should know how bad the damage is,” Zelda countered.

“It doesn’t matter. Not to me,” Ganondorf stiffly shot back.

“That’s exactly your problem!”

Link set a hand on Zelda’s arm with a pleading look in his eyes. “Can we go?” he wondered softly.

Ganondorf snorted and rode his horse around them. He schooled his expression to match the cold, heartless tone of his voice, but inside, his stomach twisted uncomfortably. _An entire sinkhole._

Ghirahim was suspiciously quiet.

 _“Say something,”_ Ganondorf urged him.

 _“What is there to say, Master?”_ came a very soft whisper in his head.

The pressure on his insides tightened.

Nothing. There was absolutely nothing to say.


	9. A Bad Idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, the comments y'all left made my entire week: have another chapter!
> 
> Also, Nintendo doesn't make things easy for me: the map for Mushroom Kingdom changes literally EVERY. GAME. So I used the one from Paper Mario because of its internal consistency, except for the placement of Bowser's Castle, because reasons. (Actually because I'd rather have it sitting on a volcano than chilling out in the sky; if he can fly it, he can land it wherever he wants.)
> 
> I love you and thank you so much for reading. Enjoy!

#### Chapter 9

#### 3 Days from the Present

The company was too quiet. Ganondorf continued to huddle miserably in his saddle as the air took on the humidity of an inbound storm. The grasslands slowly gave way to tall trees, and the eerie absence of wildlife that propelled them forward softened into the gentle rustling of a brook, a whisper of wings. Link turned his head to see a small, chubby rodent disappear into the bushes. The sound of crickets resumed. Zelda relaxed, but Ganondorf kept scanning the ground for hoof prints that squelched topsoil into the nothingness lurking underneath it. Far ahead, they could see grey thunderheads that weren’t due for another few months.

“I thought you said the Triforce was here,” said Zelda suspiciously, watching the gloomy horizon through patches in the canopy.

“The Triforce might be here, but the Star Rod is not.” Ganondorf spoke louder to make himself heard by the princess up ahead. “It doesn’t matter if one of the others is present if a territory’s native Relic is still missing.”

Zelda slowed her horse to match pace with the boys. Ganondorf saw the flicker of annoyance on her face even in the gloom. “Whoever told you all these rules?” she demanded.

Ganondorf snorted. “The Salesman offered to awaken Hylia’s knowledge. You declined.” He lifted one thick, jeweled hand and gestured at the sky. “The natural laws can be broken down into two categories: the world is made up of self-sacrificed gods. Those gods are insular pricks.” He set his hand back on the reins. “That includes you and I, if you haven’t noticed. But we chose mortal lives.”

“Is there any way for you to share everything with us with _out_ being a complete snot?” Zelda asked. “You’re the only one flying with a sense of direction. Link and I could be more help if you were more cooperative.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” smirked Ganondorf.

Zelda threw up her hands and fell silent.

Link raised his eyebrows and chin at Ganondorf.

“Oh, what,” Ganondorf mocked, “Are you going to pester me, too?”

Link just looked his nose down at him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Ganondorf pulled his canteen from his saddlebag and took a large swill of it. “You and Zelda intend to turn on me the second you don’t need my help. Of course I’m keeping my advantage.” He held out the canteen as he spoke.

Link took it, taken aback at the gesture. His eyes flickered from the water to the Demon King. “You know I don’t want to fight,” he muttered.

Ganondorf stared at Link: why was he looking at him like that?

_“The Omega wasn’t raised in the desert, Master. Sharing water is not as common among Hyruleans because they have ample sources of it.”_

“Don’t look at me like that, it’s habit,” Ganondorf snapped. “Give it back if you’re going to make it awkward.”

Link hastily tipped a splash into his mouth and handed it back. “Thanks,” he said.

Ganondorf grunted. “Where I was raised, everyone was part of a whole. You fed the horses, you brought back what you hunted, you defended the Sacred Grounds. We took turns in the watch towers. We killed trespassers. We fought.” His voice took an edge of thoughtfulness. “Water was always scarce. You offered it to your sisters without being asked. We had to trek to our wells and oases to refill when we were almost out. We brought enough for everyone or we weren’t allowed back home until we did. It’s just the way it was.” He cleared his throat and glanced at Link. His voice resumed its callousness. “I suppose you’re more interested in fishing for Relic information than listening to Gerudo business. I’ve never met a Hylian who shares water.”

“I never hear stories of the Gerudo,” Link confessed. He remained attentive.

“Bah,” Ganondorf groused, but he went on. “Just remember that Relics belong in their proper places. Anything and everything that can go wrong, if they're moved, will. When you gather them in one place, things get weird. It’s a lot of remnant cosmic personalities in close proximity to each other; it’s not a good idea to put that much ego in one place.”

Zelda barked out a laugh and immediately covered her mouth. They traded looks.

“I see,” said Link.

“Shut up,” barked Ganondorf.

Zelda burst into laughter as Ganondorf looked irritably toward the trees. Zant and Ghirahim sang or bickered when they were traveling together, but Ganondorf didn't have to wonder if either of them were going to insult him to his face. The princess and Link thought the Demon Sword had a high voice; Zant could break glass, and yeah, the two of them made a larger racket than a tree full of Kongs...but he could banish either of them if he wanted to, and didn't. He saw himself throwing Zelda against a tree, but that would delay an already time-consuming objective. Fate was against him. It was unwise to push his luck.

“You see that?” he pointed at an oak cracking open a pair of eyes on its trunk to stare at them as they passed. Zelda had gotten a hold on herself again. “Evidence of a god’s work.”

The oak closed its eyes again and breathed softly. Zelda’s smile faded, replaced with a faint grimace. “The Mushroom Kingdom’s always so…alive.”

“It was a goddess of friendship,” explained Ganondorf. “She got too eager on the ‘friends,’ part: she didn’t want anything to go to waste. So she made the Toadstool people and gave everything a face.”

“I’ve never heard of her before. Did she have a name?” Zelda asked.

“They _all_ have names,” said Ganondorf imperiously. “Most of them even have more than one. But I knew her as Amity.”

“She sounds unsettling,” Zelda admitted, but Ganondorf shook his head.

“She was a lovely goddess. She liked the color blue.” Thunder rumbled in the distance, but the leaves were so thickly spread over the dirt road that they could no longer see the clouds. “Her shadow walked among the stars when she poured out all she could into the world. The other gods of this region are mostly elemental sorts, and one outlier who made Goombas.”

“I think the dawn is coming up. It’s getting lighter,” suggested Zelda.

“It is, but we shouldn’t stop,” Ganondorf replied.

“That wasn’t what I was suggesting.”

“Then what are you suggesting, Princess?”

“We should try to warp as close to Bowser’s Castle as we can,” said Zelda. “We’re over the border, Ghirahim has rested from his last portal, and you and I will be able to help him. Which way do we have to go?”

“South: Lavalava Island. We won’t be able to portal that far, even with both of us helping him.”

“Why is Bowser so far south?”

“Because he can fly his stupid castle wherever he wants! Don’t ask me!” Ganondorf snapped. “He gets bored. Or something.”

“I’d keep mine in the sky,” Link mused.

Ganondorf and Zelda glared daggers at each other. “Just ask Ghirahim if he’ll do it,” Zelda demanded. “We can’t ride there in time to save the worlds if we try to do it solely on horseback.”

“He’s tired. He’ll come out when he wants to.”

“So let me get this straight,” Zelda held up her hand for silence. “You’re telling me, after complaining all those times about _side quests_ and _wasting time_ that you’re seriously defending your sociopathic minion from teleporting us to our destination? Are you mad?”

“You haven’t seen mad yet, Princess.”

_“Master, I’ll do it. Existence is important,”_ came the languid voice of the fashion lord.

Ganondorf tuned out of whatever Zelda was telling him. _“You’ve already done enough. I sent you on those missions right after you portaled us to Kakariko. I’m not going to let the princess order you to—”_

_“I want to.”_

Zelda stopped arguing at the brick wall of Ganondorf’s distant expression. “Ganondorf,” she repeated impatiently.

Ganondorf’s gaze snapped quickly back to hers. “He volunteered to do this for us,” he said aggressively, “so if you want to get us there any faster, Princess, I suggest you learn group teleportation yourself.”

The sword at Ganondorf’s hip shimmered and dissolved into a cloud of floating red and black diamonds that coalesced into the pale diva. “I’m back!” he cried, spreading his arms.

Link snorted quietly.

Ghirahim caught his eye and winked. “I see that smile, sweet boy.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Now, did I hear someone say they needed a portal?”

“As close to Lavalava Island as you can, yes,” Zelda affirmed.

“Coming right up!” He sauntered over to Princess Zelda and clasped one hand on hers and the other around her waist. “Care to help me with this dance?”

Ganondorf narrowed his eyes: there was normal flamboyant Ghirahim, and then there was this trembling, clammy demon lord that he watched ballroom-twirl Zelda over to the group. Link dismounted from Epona and drew both rider-less horses in. Ghirahim smiled a little too wide. “Master, Princess, I know the perfect spot just outside of Toad Town.”

“That’s too far,” Ganondorf protested.

“Who took us from Termina’s Moon to Kakariko?” Ghirahim reminded him. “Who has lived thousands of years watching and training my lovely desert gems while waiting for someone’s glorious return? _Please._ ” Ghirahim scoffed and flicked back his perfect hair, which immediately fell back into place. He was breathing audibly. “We’re nearly to Goomba town. It’s only a three day ride from here at our current pace.” He made a show of cracking his knuckles, then his neck, shaking out his limbs to throw up some magic. “Now let’s see, I’m moving seven life forms, including the horses.” His smile slipped for a second, but it came right back. He held out a hand to both Zelda and Ganondorf. “Dear Hero, you can touch my mantle. Everyone hold your horses.”

Zelda and Ganondorf both grabbed their horses’ manes as Link and Epona stood near Ghirahim’s sleeve. Link steeled himself and touched the demon’s scarlet cloak.

The wind picked up around them and the first droplets fell through the trees as Ghirahim lifted his face to the sky and gasped as the spell took hold.

They landed on an open dirt path on the crest of a grassy hill.

Ghirahim let go of everyone and collapsed in the dirt.

Ganondorf crouched over his lieutenant. “Get up!” he commanded. His fingers found Ghirahim’s pulse before he remembered that the demon didn’t require one. He snarled and scooped him up in both arms. “This is your fault!” he yelled at Zelda.

Zelda was bent over her knees from teleportation sickness as she glared up at Ganondorf. “He volunteered!”

Ganondorf growled menacingly, his fingernails sharpening into claws as he clutched the comparatively little demon to his chest. Zelda heard the Beast inside threatening to come out in that noise; she took a step back, her hands reaching into thin air as if plucking invisible harp strings, the familiar motion of summoning her bow.

“Toad Town!” Link cried, springing up and pointing behind Ganondorf. “We’re almost there! Turn around!”

“I didn’t know!” Zelda protested. She retreated a few more steps, nocking an arrow to her bow in self-defense. “Ganondorf, just calm down! I didn’t know!”

“Don’t shoot him,” said Link. He made sure to stay between the both of them, his gaze focused on the intimidating presence of the Demon King, a hand outstretched in both directions to stay them both. “Ganon, she has healing magic. She can help him.”

“Light magic.” He took another step closer to Link, his rage aimed at Zelda over the Hero’s shoulder. “I’m going to burn your palace to the ground, Princess. I will salt every field; poison every lake, if he does not recover.”

“Sounds like you,” she reflected angrily.

Ganondorf looked down at Link. “And you, boy…”

“I hope he lives,” said Link.

The wind blew out of Ganondorf’s sails, though he didn’t move and his eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I want to get to Toad Town so he can live,” Link finished. “If we can find a Luma, one of them can grant us a wish.”

Ghirahim’s soft body felt cool against Ganondorf’s chest. He hadn’t said a word or moved since he collapsed. What if he didn’t wake up? How long would it take for him to come back? How had Ganondorf never noticed how small and young his face looked?

Ganondorf draped Ghirahim over the painted mare and climbed onto the saddle. “Help me or go home,” he commanded Link. “I don’t care which. I won’t be weighted down by treacherous fools.” He flicked his reins and galloped off.

Link turned nervously to Zelda, hopping into Epona’s saddle. “We have a Luma to find, Your Majesty,” he said urgently.

Princess Zelda looked up at Link in disbelief.

“This is our best chance to change his mind,” he said. “Do you see what that is?”

Zelda glanced furtively at the Demon King and Ghirahim galloping hard down the path. She stared after them for a few seconds.

Link reached down his hand for her. “He _cares_.”

“About _Ghirahim_. And so what if he does?” she protested feebly. “He’s possessive and crazy. His love doesn’t extend further than his own inner circle. That’s not helpful.”

“But _we_ can be,” Link begged. “He said we’re doomed to repeat ourselves forever. I don’t want Hyrule continually in danger. What if he’s right this time, and we could break the cycle?”

“Because then he could win! Why are you asking me this _now?_ ” Zelda demanded.

“Because it’s _important_ now!” Link said desperately. “We help him or this time we won’t come back from death.”

Zelda stared at his hand. Freeing them could mean reincarnating at different times. Ganondorf might run amok without Link there to stop him. Zelda might be born into a world already ravaged and broken. Their incarnations could be cut down before they ever get a chance to grow up.

Ganondorf set this whole thing up. He must have. There was no reason why any of this should have happened, or why Peach would betray her and steal the Pieces of the Triforce. Ganondorf knew so much about the Relics in comparison to everybody else. Why hadn’t she allowed the Salesman to awaken her knowledge when she had the chance? How was Link so sure that this wasn’t some elaborate trap?

“It’s too convenient,” Zelda said defiantly, stepping away from Link’s outstretched hand. She went to her own horse. “Demise and the gods’ respective curses both backfired on him. Ganondorf set this up to free himself. He’s playing us and you’re falling right into it. We’re heading to Bowser’s Castle ourselves.” She climbed on and turned the animal toward the sprawling city below them. “We can find out what Peach has actually done of her own volition.”

Link’s face fell. “…As you wish,” he replied loyally.

They turned their backs on the hills behind them when they heard a suspiciously cloying tenor say behind them, “Excuse _me_ , Princess.”

Link and Zelda whipped around in unison. The Salesman stood behind them, his eyes laughing and bright. “You’re absolutely right not to trust him. I came to the same conclusion about this apocalypse myself. Now we can go see Bowser together!”

The Salesman wasn’t alone. Next to him stood a tall figure in lavender and violet robes, with a red-jeweled golden crown on his head. On his other side were Luigi and Mario.

The face on the purple magician had changed, but Link jerked back. “Vaati?”

“Nightmare,” hissed Vaati angrily.

“We all have a common goal,” said the Salesman graciously. “None of us want the world to end, and we’re all very upset at a certain misanthropist someone.”

“Seriously?” Zelda stared Vaati down. “I’ve teamed up with enough villains for one day.”

“We’re keeping an eye on him,” Luigi promised.

“So were we with ours.”

“Are you for us, or against us?” the Salesman asked pointedly.

Zelda turned up her nose at him.

“Don’t,” Link whispered softly.

“Oh, he’s not staying.” The Salesman jerked a thumb at Vaati. The minish magician shot him a look, confusion written plain on his face. “What better way to keep an eye on evil…” he asked, setting a hand on Vaati’s shoulder and clenching down hard, “than to keep your enemies closer than your friends?”

Vaati’s eyes popped wide and he shrieked, clawing at the Salesman’s hand. Link shrank back as the minish collapsed in his violet cloak, disappearing in a cloud of smoke and a lump of clothing on the ground. The Salesman bent down and unwrapped an image of young Vaati’s face, the way Link remembered him in his awakened memories. The mask shone in the morning light.

“Now then,” rephrased the Salesman, turning back to Princess Zelda with a saccharine smile, “do we have a deal?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I know that series' joke reference was trash. I had to.


	10. Sleep is for the Weak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what to tell you guys. I'm tired. I wrote half this chapter at 2am and I just finished it. I haven't even looked it twice-over, so I apologize in advance if something is amiss. Leave me a note, comment, or issue you have with it, and I'll try to make it better on the final edit once this whole thing is up and completed, kinda like how webcomic artists will go back and re-draw their first chapters because their new art is cooler. Anyway, thank you so much for reading this. Tell your friends, and see y'all next week!

#### Mushroom Kingdom

#### 3 Days from the Present

Ganondorf’s horse sprayed clumped dirt behind them as she galloped hard toward the city gates. The storm cell was now behind them, but the fey, north-eastern wind still carried the scent of watered grass where it already passed through. Curious eyes were on her and her riders as she frantically bolted past and swayed the slender stalks of flowers. 

Ganondorf kept his hand under Ghirahim’s chin, trying to keep his head from bouncing too much. His fingers nearly engulfed the demon’s face, and he could feel that his breaths were shallow, too shallow, with too many seconds between them. The distance from the hill looked closer than it actually was; he couldn’t hear any thoughts but his own in his mind, which was _wrong_. Even in silence, Ghirahim should have had a presence there unless he was actually blocking him out.

_“ **Ghirahim** , report.”_

_'Wake up, damn you,'_ Ganondorf thought viciously. His horse plowed under the welcome arch and continued down the main road, his eyes scanning the signs. Citizens of the Mushroom Kingdom dived out of his way or shoved each other to make room as they panicked. Visitor center, exotic pets, fertilizer discounts— _finding a healing center would be so much easier in **Kanto**._

A single brown, wooden building caught his attention.

Ganondorf pulled up and dropped off the saddle, dragging Ghirahim into his arms and stomping to the front door. A pair of toads jumped as the hulking Gerudo kicked it open, bent, and swung his body through their threshold.

“Any luma! Now!” he barked.

One of the toads ran out of the building as soon as he’d started speaking. The other stumbled out of the way and gestured to a bed that was too short for Ghirahim, pressing herself against the wall as the demon was gently let down to rest.

“I…I have potions,” she offered.

Ganondorf tried to unlace his gauntlets with his teeth and fumbled them twice. He cursed in Gerudean. “Help me get these off,” he commanded.

The little toadette scrambled to do as he said. Ganondorf carelessly shook them off and yanked up his sleeve. “Potions are no good to him,” he said gruffly. He yanked a knife from his boot and held it up to the muscle on his palm. The toadette flinched as he sliced it across his palm. “The best I can do is give him what he craves.”

“That’s a…” she started.

“Demon,” Ganondorf finished for her. He dropped the knife and cradled Ghirahim’s head in his hand, pressing his bloody palm against the sword spirit’s lips. “Wake up, lieutenant, or I’m trying fire next.”

The toadette stared at Ganondorf and couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She couldn’t leave the center unattended. What were either of these two doing in the middle of Mushroomland? How did one of them get hurt?

The toadette bounced anxiously on her toes but didn’t back away. “Tell me how I can help,” she said eagerly.

“I need a star.” Ganondorf lifted his forehead from Ghirahim’s and saw the tip of that serpentine tongue lapping at his blood. He flexed his palm to agitate the wound. “Beyond that, silence would be recommended.”

The rest of Ghirahim’s body stayed limp, so Ganondorf sat on the floor and rested his elbows on the runty bed. He didn’t even have to take his hands away; he just leaned closer and ignored the presence of the little toadette altogether. The toadette, awkward, busied herself with other tasks and tried not to stare at them too long at any point.

“Report to me, Ghirahim,” Ganondorf said aloud after a few minutes of silence.

Ghirahim’s awareness stirred in his mind. “Alive, Master,” he rasped weakly. He shivered and turned his head toward Ganondorf. “How’s my hair?”

Harsh, snorting giggles bubbled out of Ganondorf before he could stop them. Ghirahim smirked and cracked open his eyes as the Demon King’s hands and shoulders shook at the absurdity.

“I hate you,” teased Ganondorf. “How dare you.”

Ghirahim’s hummed pleasurably and drew in a deep breath. His eyes narrowed with some weary, invisible pain, but his smirk stayed in place. “You giggled a lot as a baby, especially when I got hurt.”

“We’re a little short on time to find a way to bring you back. You’ve overused yourself now. Look at you,” Ganondorf complained.

Ghirahim nodded slowly. “There’s an innuendo in there somewhere, I think. I’m tired,” he mumbled.

“Too tired to go back to your sheath?”

“Requires effort,” came the fading reply.

Ganondorf sighed. Now that things were at a standstill, Ganondorf planted his forehead angrily on the edge of the bed, his hands still captive by Ghirahim’s resting form. Zelda and Link were undoubtedly on their way to Bowser’s without him. The plan would be shot. If they interfered with his other self going to Lavalava Island, there might be some weird time-travel paradox thing going on soon…he _guessed_. How was _anyone_ supposed to know the nuances of how that shit worked? Could one more paradox _really_ break the universe any more than it was already breaking?

They were probably about to find out.

_Wait, the moblins._ Ganondorf jerked and hit his knee on the wooden frame of the bed. He yelped and ground his teeth, but all his effort went to keeping his captive hands still to not wake Ghirahim. The moblins were still out there. He had agents. He had the dregs of a half-ass plan. Best of all, they could track down that Link kid and make him give up his ocarina of time. No, that wouldn’t work on such a small time frame. The kid already said he didn’t want to fight; maybe he could be convinced just to help him.

It was a weird thought, extending the same ‘join me or die’ position he often gave to creatures like Volga. Ordinarily this would be a waste of time; the brat had no desire to take power for himself and never would. This wasn’t a ploy for cheap, backstabbing alliances, though; he just needed to send a message to the moon. He needed real allies.

He needed Zant.

Options were limited; without Link and without local Gossip Stones, the only way he was going to send any message to anyone was going to sleep and hoping that Rosalina could hear him, which, now that he thought about it, would be a great way to get a Luma here to fix Ghirahim and _oh gods, why did he feel so awake at the worst possible time, why couldn’t he have done this sooner._

Because linear time _sucked_ some days, that’s why.

He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. One count, two count—his heartbeat thumped in the quiet, the toadette rustled where she walked, the low rumble of chatter and foot traffic outside penetrated the seal on the windows; three, four—Zelda and Link were getting steadily closer to Bowser to stop this whole charade from happening, but they were only going to ruin everything.

Ganondorf huffed an angry breath and squared his shoulders, slowly taking his hands away from Ghirahim.

Five, six—sometimes, in the Sacred Grounds where Twinrova taught him magic, he would hear the peahats floating around and was chastised for worrying about their presence over his own training. No amount of distraction should take away from a spell any magician worth their salt was trying to do. Besides, the old crones weren’t going to let anything happen to the future Demon King. Didn’t he know anything?

Ganondorf exhaled. The door to the center opened and shut behind him—seven, eight—but they were too slow and measured to be the other toad’s. 

Nine: that damn smarmy chortle pierced the air behind him. “ _Ho-ho-ho_ , Demise, look how I’ve found you.”

Ten.

The Demon King opened his eyes and rose to face the Salesman. Sleep wasn’t going to be an option now, but his golden gaze was calm and hard. He was not going to allow a repeat of the Milk Bar; here he was alone, untethered by Link and the princess’ concern for collateral. He only needed to shelter Ghirahim from further damage.

The Salesman’s eyes flickered to the unconscious demon on the bed. “I did tell you what I would do to him the third time he and I met.”

“You will have to get through me.” Ganondorf felt the dark power within him stir. “I’ve seen your bag of tricks now.”

“I’ve been busy fetching new ones. Unlike you.” The Salesman leaned in. “You know what everyone calls that beast form of yours?”

Ganondorf snorted, then bared his growing teeth in a predatory grin. His golden eyes were unnaturally bright, his gravel voice low. “They call it dangerous.”

The toadette squeaked and pulled herself out of the window, little feet kicking frantically. No sooner did she fall face-first in the dirt outside did she hear an unearthly roar from inside the building.

_‘I’m moving back to the country,’_ she thought, and ran.

Ganondorf slammed the Salesman against the wall with huge, paw-like hands. His red mane was becoming more literally similar to a lion’s, his nose elongating into a tusked boar’s snout. The pressure on the Salesman’s neck against his giant backpack made him gasp and struggle, but he grabbed frantically at the mask strapped along his side and pressed it to his face.

Ganondorf was blasted back through the clinic’s walls and into the street.

The Salesman stepped through the wall after him as a new set of masks floated in a halo’s arc above him. Half-shifted Ganondorf shook the splinters out of his hair and pushed himself on all fours, the rest of him consumed by his transformation: thick, dark fur covered his body, he gained a long, red wolf tail, and his impressive size nearly doubled. The giant lion-boar’s tail lashed angrily, and he felt less concern over whatever damage they were about to do. He had only one goal: to win.

The Salesman’s eyes were wide and furious through the holes in his frog mask. “You dare!” he cried. The masks above his head began to rotate in a circle. “To the Void with you!”

A deep satisfaction settled into Demise at the Salesman’s indignation. _‘Let him get angry,’_ he thought.

The mask of the Sad Man spun and tried to catch his sight. Ganondorf knew better than to look at it. He leapt aside from the gout of fire that spewed from a dragon mask and ducked behind a neighboring residence as a triple-tap of laser beams punched holes through the facing side. The Salesman usually had four floating around. Where was the…?

The Stone Face floated around to Ganondorf’s side of the building and started to blink. Without waiting for the half-second of charge to finish, Ganondorf pounced and batted it like a mouse toy.

The Salesman floated over the building on a cloud as the Stone Face flew to rejoin him. Ganondorf snorted and tensed, recognizing a wind god’s power in that frog mask. This was _bull_ shi—

Ganondorf hunkered down over a gust of powerful wind that blew over him and toppled several nearby trees. Town citizens were shrieking now, fleeing all directions away from the deity death match in the street. Guards stayed back and ushered civilians to a safe distance. Neither the Salesman nor Demise acknowledged their presence.

“Give up, Demise!” the Salesman demanded.

Ganondorf curled his clawed paw and blasted red lightning at the Salesman. The Salesman dropped several feet in the air to avoid it, then burst upward and grabbed a purple, black, and gold mask with a red eye from his rotating halo, exchanging it on his face with the frog’s. Ganondorf recognized Vaati’s design, and realized that it wasn’t the only recognizable mask there. That red and silver one, shaped like a dragon’s face and about to bathe his position below in fire, could be useful if he could get to it.

The frog mask fell into rotation with the others and rapidly spun on its own axis as it followed around the other masks. Clouds gathered overhead, and a tornado descended from the angry sky to end the Demon King.

Volga’s mask belched flame into the tornado. Ganondorf backed up. The fire storm gathered intensity and tore layers from nearby buildings, and in front of it all, the Salesman hovered maniacally.

“Tell me where you hid the Relics!” he screamed.

Ganondorf growled and pounced at the Salesman. The Salesman jerked right and turned to face him as the beast landed behind him, too close for comfort with the fire storm. Ganondorf heard a loud crack as a branch dislocated from its mother tree.

The civilian panic grew louder. Their fear wasn’t useful, but the hate that rolled off of the Salesman gave Demise the energy well he desired, and he drew on it to shroud himself in dark, poisonous miasma that got sucked into the fiery vortex. The Salesman coughed and threw a hand up to shield his face.

Ganondorf knew searing, powerful winds, and his inhuman guffaw echoed in the storm. He could see the Salesman’s enraged, bloodshot eyes under Vaati’s mask, a mask that gave him, too, the powers of a sorcerer.

Ganondorf dug his claws into the earth to hold himself still. The Salesman landed and drew his masks closer to himself, but the frog mask glowed, and the winds lessened. The Demon King and the Salesman stared hard at one another, the poisonous smoke from Ganondorf’s sorcery hiding all but fierce, golden eyes.

“The Relics, Demise. This is your last chance.”

“You think you’re letting _me_ live?”

“You have a very high opinion for someone who relies on their Triforce of Power for immortality.”

Inside the curtain of smoke, Ganondorf paused. The Salesman wasn’t aware of his lack of Power. He thought he had all the Relics.

Wouldn’t he, if this was his plan?

Most of the pieces fit: he was a planner, he had a motive, he even went back in time. Why wouldn’t he have told himself where they were if this was his plan? Why didn’t he know his own plan?

But who else could it have possibly been?

“All at once now!” cried the Salesman, and all four masks faced Ganondorf. The Salesman raised his hand like a conductor. “Since you refuse to cooperate, Demise, this is all that’s left for you.”

“I wish we had a house!”

“I’m scared! I wish they would go away!”

“I wish we could do something!”

“Morel, don’t move! I wish you were okay!”

Ganondorf and the Salesman gradually became aware of the pathetic wishes going on all around them. The Salesman felt a prickle of magic in the air; Ganondorf heard the wishers’ faith in their pleas and felt an uncomfortable pressure under his skin.

Every wish was directed in the same direction: them.

A yellow luma shot over their heads, leaving a trail of sparkling stardust drifting lazily in the ruined street between Ganondorf and the Salesman. A second joined them. A third.

Ganondorf and the Salesman glanced warily at each other and cautiously turned to watch the lumas’ arrival. “We heard wishes!” one of them exclaimed.

The crowd of toads started shouting all at once:

“They did this! Make them leave!”

“I wish none of this had happened!”

“Are there more of you coming?”

“Wait! One at a time!” said the first luma. It turned to Ganondorf and bounced in surprise. “Ganondorf!”

All eyes turned to him, including the Salesman’s. The beast’s ears flattened.

“Ganondorf! What have you done?”

The beast jerked his head at the Salesman. The luma looked upset.

“We can only answer a few wishes right now! We have to make it quick, and not too big!” said the second luma to the crowd, at a distance from the fight.

“Fix my house!” shouted a toad.

“Banish the evil ones!” pleaded another.

“We said not too big!” echoed the third luma desperately. “Please, we’re doing all we can, but there’s so many wishes right now, and we can’t stay! It’s taking all of us!”

The Salesman bowed to the first luma that addressed them. “Amity will forgive me,” he said soberly. “I need to kill this one. He’s overstepped his boundaries and I desire the Relics back in their proper places.”

Ganondorf roared in pain as his body shifted back into its human form. He fell on his hands and knees and stood up as quickly as he could. “I wish Ghirahim was healed!”

The Salesman flinched in surprise. “ _That’s_ your wish?” he asked disbelievingly.

The three lumas looked at each other.

“We’ll grant the collective wish that everyone who was injured here is not, and then we have to go,” said the first luma.

“What about them!” a toadette demanded, pointing at the two gods in their midst.

“I wouldn’t be here except for my lieutenant,” retorted Ganondorf. “He’s healed, I’ll leave.”

The lumas looked delighted.

The Salesman removed Vaati’s mask and threw Ganondorf a sour look. “We’ll finish this the third time we meet,” he said.

Ganondorf smirked. “The same way you would turn Ghirahim into a mask the third time you and him did?”

“He wasn’t awake,” sniffed the Salesman. “This is a small victory for you, Demise. But if history is anything to go by, those never exactly last long. Next time, you won’t escape.”

“Don’t let the boos scare you on the way out. They’re mostly harmless,” Ganondorf called.

The lumas rose together and circled over the crowd. All lingering traces of the storm vanished; injured toads sat up and leaned against their loved ones for support, and the lumas flew off.

Ganondorf heard a piece of wood _thunk_ to the ground behind him and turned. Ghirahim stepped down, a yo-yo being tossed between his hands. “Master!” he said delightedly.

The Salesman sneered at Ghirahim and turned to walk away. He’d at least slowed them down.

Ganondorf’s lopsided smirk came back to his proud face. “Ghirahim, you look better.” He and his sword spirit clasped each other’s forearms in a firm greeting and let go. Their eyes drifted toward the Salesman’s retreating form at the same time.

“Ghirahim,” Ganondorf asked conversationally, “Do you think you can hit that mask hanging right there?”

“The red one? I know that red one. Absolutely.”

Ghirahim lined up his shot and threw the yo-yo as hard as he could.

The force of the impact cracked the dragon mask off the Salesman’s back and ricocheted through a nearby, already-broken window. Ghirahim pointed, “Ha!”

The Salesman whipped around in a fury.

Volga appeared, lying on his back on the cobblestones. “Ugh…” and sat up, rubbing his head.

The Salesman glanced between Ganondorf and Ghirahim, then to Volga, and did a quick calculation in his head about whether retaliation was a good idea. He shoved his way through the quickly parting crowd and disappeared through the gates.

Ganondorf and Ghirahim took one arm each and hauled Volga to his feet. “I’d almost had him,” claimed Volga irritably.

Ghirahim clicked his tongue dismissively. “Volga, that’s the Sheikah god. You didn’t almost have him.”

“Sheikah?” Volga’s mouth hung open, showing pointed canines. He quickly snapped it shut and took his arms back.

“We’re going to Bowser’s Castle, probably to fight whoever’s already there,” said Ganondorf. “You’re coming with us.”

“If it means getting my revenge,” agreed Volga.

Ghirahim wiggled excitedly. “New road trip!” he cried. “We should bring Zant!”

Ganondorf sighed. “I know. Someone has to go tell him.”

“Shouldn’t the moblins be here, too?”

Ganondorf growled in annoyance.

The crowd of toads could do no more against their troublemakers; they gave the trio a wide berth, and began picking up where ground zero began. Because of the lumas, the only thing they had to fear was property damage.

Ganondorf even located his horse.

“So what happened?” Ghirahim asked seriously. “How did we get here?”

“You were fading,” said Ganondorf, readjusting the saddle on the mustang. “I took you here to find a luma. The Salesman found us.”

“The princess heard you?” Ghirahim asked.

“We must have made a lot of noise.” Ganondorf stroked the horse’s mane, frowning. They had no way of catching up to Zelda and Link with three of them and one horse, not with the head start they already had and less weight on their animals. “Volga, how competent are you right now?”

“I’m death incarnate,” Volga replied.

Ganondorf smirked. “Good. I’m leaving Darhún here,” he said. “We need a faster means of travel.”

Volga was not amused.


	11. Intermission: Motives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so...it's early. I wanted a closer look at what was driving the characters in this story, and it resulted in this multi-scene chapter I have for you today that I basically binge-wrote as three different segments. (They were all relevant, but none long enough to be their own chapter, so they wound up together.) To be honest, I didn't even intend to include the last section, but realized it was either that, or some things I wanted revealed were never going to see the light of day. Only my tumblr followers would've known of this particular Team Villain scene's existence.
> 
> I apologize for any quality mistakes I may have made on this. If you have any highlights you liked or problems with it, please let me know! Comments and kudos give me life. And I hope I didn't lose too many of you by how complicated this story turned out. It's been an adventure so far for me, too! I'll go ahead and post the next chapter once it's done, either this or sometime next week. Thank you for reading!

#### Comet Observatory

#### 3 Days from the Present

Rosalina tensely watched blue motes flicker over the large, transparent screen in the main room. She swiped it to the left: a map of K-2L appeared, an angry red burst erupting over an ocean on its otherwise normal surface. She twitched her head in a nonverbal ‘no’ and swiped again: a dozen little red dots flickered over a dense, highly-populated image in one of Corneria’s capitals. Rosalina paused, grinding her teeth, as half a dozen lumas raced to and from the landing platform in urgent efficiency.

The Observatory was nearly empty. None of the lumas paused very long as they dashed back out, and only returned long enough to drop off yet another wish that someone made in a desperate frenzy.

She swiped again: Hyrule, increasingly red with void rifts, showing up as pings on the map. Pop Star: same. Hoenn: same. Tellius…

Rosalina turned. “Twink,” she called, spotting a little yellow luma heading back toward the platform. “Sparkle, Point, I might need you.”

Her screen flashed at the corners, and the fuzzy, august face of General Hare replaced the image of Tellius. Rosalina tapped it twice.

“Your Highness, we have a problem! Those void rifts are openin’ up everywhere! We need assistance!”

“I know, General. It’s the same across all planes.” Rosalina’s voice was tight. “I’ll send as many as I can, but the only thing I can do now is keep as many people safe as possible. The lumas will be there shortly.”

“Do you know what’s goin’ on?”

“It’s nothing you can fix,” she admitted. “Consider it a magic problem.”

“Well, if I have to send Fox out there—”

“It won’t help. Focus on your people, General, and keep them from burrowing. The rifts are spreading out from the cores, and underground is not the refuge your instincts tell you it is.”

“Well, who’s doing something about it?”

The bottom, left-hand corner of her screen pinged over a miniature map of Toad Town as a large source of wishes erupted from the area. She trailed off.

General Hare’s brow furrowed. “Princess Rosalina?”

“I’m sorry, I just got another alert.” Rosalina tore her eyes away and looked up into the grim face of Corneria’s military leader. “The Hylians are working on resetting the balance. Of course I’ll send lumas your way. I have to go.”

“Hurry, Your Highness. Peppy, out.”

The mini-map in the bottom replaced Peppy Hare’s face in the center. “Twink, I need you three in the Lylat system. Try to get as many people away from the rifts as you can, but first find out what’s going on in Toad Town, since it’s close.”

Twink rolled over in midair and bent its stubby, rounded limb in salute. “You can count on us!”

The lumas zoomed out. Rosalina pursed her lips, and looked sorrowfully back at the screen where half a dozen maps were pinging red all at once. There was no way the star people could keep up, even with the help of the Grand and Mother stars. There would be storms soon.

Rosalina had to walk away. People were wishing more in their final weeks than some of them had wished all their lives. The lumas were frantic; more than farmers and remote streams were going missing; she could hear their pain in their dreams, and could feel their grief. How was this worth it?

The princess pushed open a simple wooden door and looked up into a dark room filled with blue bubbles. Each had its own scene playing out, dreams of those who were sleeping. Occasionally one popped as its creator woke up, and as Rosalina walked under them, eyeing their contents, she noticed a shift in content: so many more were nightmares.

Crying alone, being chased, falling off a cliff—Rosalina could see the influence the apocalypse was having on the psyche. A wish goddess had to know what a mind really desired, or didn’t; she only wanted what was best. She heard the same thing over, and over, for a long, long time, in so many forms they seemed to blend together in one long movie.

People wanted freedom.

_Control,_ she thought, roaming under the dream canopy, her face illuminated in the fae, blue glow, _was about more than greed._ Control, power, was about being able to make your own choices. It was something denied to most beings, and was even a sad illusion to some who believed they had it.

It wasn’t fair to be a plaything.

Rosalina plucked a bubble from over her head and watched a Zora boy back away from the girth of Jabu Jabu. In the dream, the great fish swallowed the boy and dived deeper in the ocean. After all, what was one child to a god? Even the boy knew it.

He should be able to make his own wishes come true.

…

#### Mushroom Kingdom

Link hung back from the brothers and Princess Zelda as they walked. Familiarity lessened the impact of seeing such large eyes on a raptor, and Yoshis weren’t nearly the weirdest thing he’d seen on this trip, let alone his life. It didn’t take Zelda long to ask Mario about them; Yoshis, Mario replied, were sprinters. Otherwise their pace was going to be about the same as a horse’s trot.

Link tuned out sometime after the third or forth mile. To the west was the storm cell they had outrun, and ahead to the south was farmland and forest until they reached the port. Crossing the water to Lavalava Island would be the most time-consuming part of the trip.

What did the princess really think Ganondorf was up to? The Demon King was as concerned with keeping the universe alive as they were; even if he were the cause, he’d be the only one who would know how to stop it, so was killing him even an option?

“Hey there, kid,” said Luigi quietly.

Link glanced up from Epona’s mane and stared back at him with a lost look on his face. Luigi was riding beside him, albeit lower to the ground on a blue Yoshi, but he was looking at him in concern. “Are you okay?”

Link nodded.

“You don’t look it.”

Link shrugged one shoulder and glanced back the way they came. Luigi followed his gaze.

“Look, Link, I can’t read your mind. You have to use words sometimes.”

“I don’t think we should’ve left Ganondorf,” muttered Link.

Luigi’s eyebrows disappeared into his dark hair. “Old Salesman give you a weird vibe?”

Link nodded.

“I felt it, too.” Luigi turned his gaze ahead, watching Zelda and Mario’s backs. “You’d think watching a purple man get turned into a mask would unnerve them, but no. People still regard him as a sort of neutral guardian figure of the status quo, especially after the Majora business. He roams around on his own time and agenda. There are all sorts of old gods who do that.” He sighed. “Besides, Princess Zelda said he could wield the Master Sword.”

Link’s throat tightened, and he nodded. Other than rather creepy behavior, Link couldn’t prove anything wrong with him. Maybe he was overreacting.

“You know what I think?” Link watched Luigi’s profiled face go grim. “I don’t think you have to be evil to be wrong.”

“‘A lack of evil doesn’t make someone good,’” Link echoed.

“What was that?”

“Something Ganondorf said,” said Link.

Luigi was silent for a moment. “You know…I’ve heard a lot of terrible things about the Demon King. He’s waged war on Hyrule, turned light worlds to dark, stolen the Triforce, manipulated and lied his way into victories, hurt both you and the princess…He doesn’t sound like the kind of person I would trust.”

Link remained silent.

“ _But…_ I don’t know him as well as you do.”

Luigi and Link looked at each other. Luigi smiled. “Normally, when my gut says something, I follow it.”

Link ground his teeth and shook his head.

“I know, kid, it’s complicated. It always is. But I’m not Mario and Princess Zelda. I think they do things sometimes because they’re afraid of change. Change is coming anyway, though, isn’t it?” He lifted his hand and caught an errant snowflake in his palm.

Link and Luigi stared curiously at the sky. Mario and Zelda stopped talking ahead of them and followed suit. “More weird weather,” they heard Mario say.

Link felt the sudden cold sink into his bones. It was like the void rifts he saw back at the border: strange, terrifying, and unpredictable.

Yeah, change was coming. He only wished he knew how to handle it.

…

“Why does he call you ‘Demise?’”

The question startled him. Ghirahim had been chattering to Volga since they left Toad Town, as they flew over patchwork farmland that turned into the wild forests of Mushroomland. Ganondorf was left to watch the horizon as the dragon wove through low-lying clouds, his red scales catching condensation he didn’t even seem to notice. 

It took Ghirahim turning around and repeating the question before Ganondorf tuned in with a start. “Master?”

“It’s meant to be an insult,” he answered over the wind. “You’re less familiar personally with the subtle kind of erasure humans inflict on other humans. He calls me the Hylian form of my name.”

“But your name is great!”

“Indeed.”

“We’ll show him to pay proper respects to you, Master! All _four_ of us. I can’t wait to taste his blood–ooh, it’s going to be so delicious. I haven’t felt this well in _days–_ ”

Volga snorted underneath them, bouncing them both. Ganondorf gripped tightly to the ridge of scales down the center of his back, his knuckles almost white. _It’s worth it,_ he told himself. Him, his demon sword, and–soon to accompany them–a living shadow were riding into battle on a dragon. It would be a tale worth telling once they were back in the desert.

“Ghirahim, what history do you and Sheikah have?” Ganondorf smirked as he watched Ghirahim attempt in vain to control his hair and mantle against the buffeting wind.

“Oh, that.” Ghirahim grimaced. “I’ll cheapen the story if I tell you like this. I– _oh, for night’s sake!_ ” His mantle flew into his face and disappeared in a cloud of hazy black and yellow diamonds, his form taking on a hard, metallic sheen. “ _There_ –I can tell you the short version, and if you want to hear the full, I’m always at your call.”

“Good. Entertain me.”

“He’d crossed into the desert sometime before you were born, probably looking for a new mask. I went out to greet him at the river.

“‘Ho, Sheikah!’ I said. ‘What business do you have here?’

“‘Inventory!’ he told me. ‘I’m looking for a new mask.’ He said he’d just come back from overseas, and was looking for something more local. Well I, _being Lord Ghirahim_ , knew what was going on. Old Salesman couldn’t fool an intelligent demon like me.

“But there was no way even I couldn’t outmatch an old god in a fight. I had to find another way to get him to leave. Now, everyone knows the Salesman loves a riddle game; it’s just the right amount of deception without being a lie, so he can’t use his Lens to see the truth. I leapt onto the bridge and explained the terms.”

“You challenged the Salesman to a riddle game?” Ganondorf barked in disbelief. “Ghirahim, are you mad?”

“Clearly,” replied the demon sword. He flashed his pearly whites in a grin.

Volga glanced back at Ghirahim, interested.

“Anyway, I told him that he could have me once he won a game of wits,” he went on, leaning back against Volga’s scales. “Old Salesman says, ‘Yes, ask your first riddle.’

“So I throw a giant hammer in the air as hard as I could, and ask him what it represents.”

Ganondorf tilted his head with a small smile on his face, imagining the bridge over the desert gorge with the two deities standing face to face in the middle of it, as the sun beat down on their heads. "Where did you get a hammer?"

“Not important, I just had it. He puzzles over it for a minute, then another. He puzzles until he finally says, ‘the forging role of gods.’ I smile at him and say, ‘Your turn.’”

“Wait, is that really what it meant?” Ganondorf growled. Ghirahim waved him down so he could finish the story.

“‘I’m four digits, but you have half a chance at guessing me right. What am I?’ he asks. ‘Aha!’ I say, ‘That’s fifty-fifty! Now it’s my turn: What’s seen, but not seen alone? What’s felt, but not on its own? What’s heard that whistles in your ear? What’s smelt, but only down from here?’

“‘The answer is wind, of course.’“ Ghirahim shrugged, but his eyes were bright and eager. He sat up. “He got that one pretty quickly. Old Salesman, I realize, is better at riddles than me. I start to get nervous.”

“I’m surprised you both started off with such easy ones,” Ganondorf admitted.

Ghirahim ran a pleased hand through his hair. “We both enjoy a game we think we’re winning. We were both just getting started.”

Ganondorf and Volga shared a look over Ghirahim: uh-huh. Ghirahim pretended not to notice.

“‘Finally, I ask him, ‘What lurks in the water that wears but doesn’t breathe?’”

Ganondorf leaned in interestedly. Volga had to watch the path ahead, but eyed the little demon over his shoulder when he got the chance.

“He didn’t answer!” cried Ghirahim, pumping his fists into the air, “The hammer came down and smashed the bridge just as he opened his mouth. I clung to the side as he plummeted into the rushing river, and that’s why he hates me forever.”

Ganondorf and Volga laughed loud and deep, the Demon King throwing back his head as the dragon wheezed, trying to stay aloft without jarring his passengers too badly. Ghirahim waggled his brows and laid back, grinning like a fool to himself.

Imminent apocalypse or not, it was nice being together again.


	12. Working Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Team Villain. Because I love them.
> 
> Share it if you like it! Critique helps me improve, but any and all comments are appreciated. Thanks!

#### Mushroom Kingdom

#### 2 Days from the Present

Zant appeared as twilight descended over Seaside, a little coastal town Ganondorf had never seen on anything but mail routes and road signs—primarily, he supposed, looking down on it from dragonback—because there was very little there worth seeing. The sleepy place was populated by a handful of goombas and toadstools, and the buildings were domes on stilts to protect from high tide and wind alike. Ganondorf shifted restlessly as Volga dropped from the clouds within sight of the coast. He swept low over the road and veered off to land in a copse of palms: Ganondorf and Ghirahim slid off his back, and the dragon became a man in a red suit of armor.

“Did either of you notice whether we passed the princess on our way here?” Ganondorf asked.

“We did,” Ghirahim and Volga said in unison. Volga gestured for Ghirahim to continue while he straightened out his helmet. Ghirahim grinned at the excuse to hear himself speak. “While you were asleep, Master. I think they saw us.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Ganondorf looked down the road toward the collection of stilt buildings that was Seaside. “They will still need to come this way to get to the harbor. We have two days left before we catch up to the present, so let’s use tonight to prepare ourselves for it.”

“Are we going to interfere with your arrival at Bowser’s Castle?” Volga asked.

“No.” Ganondorf walked toward the road, and the other two flanked him, listening. “Time travel is tricky, and we don’t want to undo what’s already been done.”

“But I thought that was the point?” Ghirahim remarked, earning himself an eyebrow raise.

“You know what I mean. I would’ve never learned of the gods’ curse had I not gone back. That makes it unlikely that this problem originated with me.”

“See, that’s the part I don’t understand,” Volga piped up. “Ghirahim was yammering about you being cursed, and that you have this grand scheme going on to fix it. That’s why we’re here.”

“I lied.”

_“You didn’t know.”_

Ganondorf eyed Ghirahim a warning look. The sword demon didn’t say it aloud.

Volga pushed his helmet up and rubbed his eyebrows. “So what do we actually know about this?”

“That someone is competent enough to remain invisible, manipulative enough to throw me to the wolves, and convincing enough to get Princess Peach to steal the Triforce.” The sun rested distantly over the ocean, the sky shot through with yellow, orange, and pink. Ganondorf saw Amity’s handiwork in the soft, dreamlike quality of wavy cirrostratus clouds over the water. “I’m impressed. If I was sure of their intentions not to destroy us along with everything else, we could’ve struck a bargain.”

“Are you thinking someone crazy, desperate, or incredibly vengeful?” Volga asked.

Ganondorf shrugged. “Crazy is a useless term, Volga. All three of us fit the word. We won’t know anything else until they play their next card.”

“Master, look,” Ghirahim interrupted, pointing down at his shadow.

Ganondorf and Volga stopped to look. “Ah,” Ganondorf breathed, “Right on time.”

The last of the sun’s rays were fading as the shadows behind them darkened and stretched together. A figure rose from the darkness, with arms that stretched toward the sky and fell like a blooming flower to its sides. “We’re all here!” Ghirahim cried.

The overly dressed twili convict looked the same as the last time Ganondorf had seen him: robed in black with faintly glowing lines of turquoise embroidery, bronze pauldrons and a cap covering short, red hair. Ghirahim leapt at him almost as soon as he appeared.

Zant yelped and caught him. “Where is this?” he demanded. His alien yellow eyes fell on Volga. “Oh. We _are_ all here.”

“Is that a problem?” Volga growled. Ganondorf waved them both down.

Ghirahim kept one arm around Zant as he threw the other around Volga’s shoulders. “The master speaks!” he said.

“We’re in a no-nothing town at Mushroomland’s coast called Seaside. You won’t find it on any map,” Ganondorf explained. “We’re going to take tonight to rest ourselves, then Volga will fly us to the island tomorrow.”

Zant threw Volga a huge smirk. Volga growled.

“Are there going to be problems?”

“No,” Zant and Volga said together.

“Good,” said Ganondorf, “I can send any one of you back to where you came from.”

Volga scowled and stepped forward, away from Zant and Ghirahim. “How much farther?”

Ganondorf walked next to the dragon as the other two trailed behind. “Just a few minutes. If the trip to the island from here is too far for you, Volga, we can take a ferry.”

“The distance doesn’t bother me, as long as I get some rest beforehand,” Volga replied. “Ghirahim and I saw that we passed Zelda’s group a little while ago. They could be here soon if they galloped.”

“I’m sure seeing us will improve their pace,” Ganondorf agreed, “but I have a moblin hunting party on their way behind them. The numbers are steadily growing in our favor.”

“The green kid is stronger than he looks,” Volga muttered.

Ganondorf nodded. “True, and with the help Zelda has acquired, it would be foolish to underestimate them. But there’s a trick to this.”

“Oh?”

“None of this is our plan.”

Volga frowned up at him. “I mean, I’m only in this to get revenge on Sheikah, but how does any of this work out for you, if that’s the case?”

Ganondorf and Volga walked a fair distance before he replied. Seaside became more than a spot in the distance; shops and houses grew taller in their view, and clam-shaped stalls selling health drinks and low-quality fishing poles were shutting down under the burgeoning stars. “Look at them,” said the Demon King finally. “They don’t know what to do in the face of trouble, so they do nothing.”

Volga frowned but listened.

“Should we be like them, and do nothing?” Ganondorf asked. “Weather has become unpredictable. Rifts in the earth open into void. Most likely, these are just the beginning symptoms.” He eyed the dragon thoughtfully. “I’m going back to Bowser’s Castle because the Triforce is there. Someone besides Peach will arrive and try to take it, I’m sure. We will finally learn who to blame all this on.” He flexed his fingers. “I will offer them a deal then, or I will break them. If I can find where they’ve gathered all the Relics, I can use them to wish a new universe. One without the chains the other gods have given me. One unbroken and mine.”

“Good plan. I like it,” said Volga. “For being as helpless as the rest of us, you don’t exactly let that stop you.”

Ganondorf’s mouth twitched up in a wry smile as they passed the first of the stalls. Goombas and toadstools paused and stared at the four villains crossing the strand, but no one said a word. Ganondorf led his party up a ramp into a small inn.

The innkeeper was a little goomba of middling height and very short teeth. His eyes widened when the Demon King and comrades squeezed through the wooden door, but he opened with, “A room for each?” which earned a chuckle from Volga.

Ganondorf elbowed Ghirahim. “Rupees?” he muttered.

Ghirahim turned out his pockets. Zant sighed and passed up a bag of coins. “Just three,” he said. Volga groaned.

“I’m not sharing with you,” Zant snapped. Volga snapped his teeth warningly.

Ganondorf’s eyebrows shot up his forehead as he threw Zant an aporetic glance from the corner of his eyes, but dropped the bag on the counter and counted out gold. He passed the bag back and grabbed his key from the peg board beside the counter. “I want to hear nothing,” he muttered.

Volga eyed the bag of gold hungrily before it disappeared back under the twili’s robes, but mimicked Ganondorf and followed him upstairs. He did a double-take at Zant and Ghirahim at the bottom of the stairwell.

“I thought Ghirahim annoyed him.”

“Ghirahim annoys me, too,” said Ganondorf, leaving off the rest of the sentence. He pushed open his door and bid the dragon good rest.

Volga stood in the hallway, watching Ghirahim and Zant disappear into the third room. He couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying, but he caught something about magical theory. _‘Oh gods, what absolute shut-ins,’_ he thought.

But he couldn’t help it: Zant was shrieky and hypercritical and fussy. Ghirahim was boisterous and self-inflated and…fussy.

Huh.

Volga glanced both ways down the empty hallway and removed his helmet. Soft, blonde hair damp with sweat fell around his face, and eyes like bright, imperial topaz narrowed without anything to shield them. He slipped down the hallway and leaned toward their door.

“No, no, no, is that a rat tail? What are you doing to your hair?”

Zant cut short an awkward, strangled noise just as something thumped against the floor. “Don’t look at it. I meant to cut it off.”

“C’mere.”

“No.” Volga frowned, but after a moment of scuffling, the movement stopped. Zant groaned in embarrassment.

“Well, you can pull it off better than I would, I’ll give you that.”

“Just cut it off,” Zant muttered. He added something in twili that Volga didn’t catch, but Ghirahim laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“You,” said Ghirahim. “The rest of you looks amazing, and you’re shy about the one fixable thing that isn’t.”

“I’m not shy.”

“Awkward, then, except when you’re yelling at Volga.”

Zant and Volga both made irritable noises, Volga realizing his mistake too late. “I think he’s listening,” said Zant.

Volga tried to shove his helmet back on as Ghirahim yanked open the door. “Volga!” he cried enthusiastically. “Come in. I didn’t know you were such a voyeur.”

“I’m not—” Volga protested, but he fumbled his helmet and dropped it as Ghirahim grabbed both his arms and pulled him inside. Zant got up and kicked the helmet into the room before shutting the door.

Volga had never seen Zant without seven layers of robes and sleeves too long to show his hands. “You have hands,” he said in surprise.

Zant and Ghirahim both gave Volga an incredulous pair of looks. “Of course he has hands. _I_ have hands and I’m a _sword_ ,” said Ghirahim.

Volga grimaced, pulling his arms away. “I should get some sleep tonight. I’m carrying all three of you tomorrow…”

Ghirahim waved down his excuses. “You obviously thought we were more interesting.”

Volga shifted uncomfortably.

Ghirahim suddenly clapped his hands over his mouth and laughed. “You don’t have your helmet on!” he cried. “I don’t think either of you have seen each other like this.”

Zant seemed to shrink in on himself as Volga glared.

“Hey.” Ghirahim snapped his fingers, drawing the dragon’s scrutiny towards him. “We’re all on the same team. You don’t have to be so hostile.”

“I don’t know what this ‘team’ is you speak of,” Volga countered, “because I’m just here to get back at the Salesman.”

“Well, I’m here because I actually _want_ to be,” said Ghirahim. “And we all owe Lord Ganondorf our allegiance for one reason or another. He’s saved us all from certain doom or defeat.”

“I have nowhere else to go,” Zant admitted.

Volga scoffed at the admission. “Pathetic, Zant. You’re the only mortal of us. I have to wonder why King Ganondorf even bothered to raise you back from oblivion.” He smirked. “He must be truly desperate to want you around.”

Zant screeched angrily and lunged at him.

Volga stepped back and readied a punch at the twili. His hand morphed into dragon claw as it shot toward its target, but came up short with a sharp pain against his knuckles.

Ghirahim was there in a flash of diamonds, holding a wound-up pillowcase at both ends. He snapped it a second time against Volga’s knuckles. “I can draw blood,” he warned.

Volga drew his hand back and noticed that he already did. “Ridiculous,” he said as his digits became human fingers again. “Is everything a weapon to you?”

“I have hands and I am a sword,” Ghirahim repeated.

Volga growled and sucked the blood from his hand. “I don’t know what you see in a useless creature like him,” he spat at the demon. “I can’t see how either of you can even stand each other.”

The door opened and shut behind him. Ganondorf’s rolling baritone tripped into his native Gerudean gruff. “Do I hear you questioning my judgment, Volga?”

Zant shrugged on one of his robes and was quickly joined by Ghirahim at his side. Volga dared not look their way, or away from Ganondorf at all. “Are you denying that Vaati was a mistake?”

The whole room was silent for several heartbeats. Ganondorf stared down at the dragon, so small in human form compared to the towering Demon King. “No,” he answered finally.

Ghirahim and Zant stared hard at Volga. “You’d bring that up?” Ghirahim demanded.

“Yes!” Volga planted his feet as if for a fight. “It’s about time someone did. You let him run amok and he decided to leave us all to start trouble in Dreamland. He tried to usurp you.”

“To be fair, Yuga tried that, too, and both failed,” said Ghirahim, but Volga shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not here to be friends or fix the world,” he said. “I just want to hurt the Salesman.”

“All right,” agreed Ganondorf, stepping out of the doorway. He opened it and jerked his thumb toward the hallway. “By all means, go pick a fight with Sheikah and tell us of your victory. Obviously, you don’t want our help.”

Volga glared warily at Ganondorf.

“No trick,” he assured him. “In fact, Volga, since you are obviously so confident in your own abilities, I’m sure Princess Zelda and Link would be no match for you, either.”

The dragon squared his shoulders and said nothing.

“I’m sorry, I don’t hear you answering.” Ganondorf slammed the door shut, making the other three flinch. “The fact is, you are not one to talk about mistakes others have made. Vaati felt that he could take on the universe and win, and I chose to let him. Look where he is now.” Ganondorf crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Now look behind you. The people in this room are the only ones who have bothered, past and present, to show any kind of concern for your well being. Yes, Ghirahim is loud. Yes, Zant is mortal. And yes, you are an insufferable hoarder who hunts sheep in his spare time. All the same, we are useful to each other. I don’t have the patience to tell you why picking a fight with any other person in this room is a bad idea.

“So rethink what you’re telling them. Each of us alone is a formidable opponent, but together we are more than a sum of our parts. If one of us thirsts, we share water.” Ganondorf swept his gaze over the room. “That is what Princess Zelda and the Salesman have over us. They can work as a unit and inspire others to fight with them. We are not in it for others; we are in it for ourselves. But that is all the more reason to be united with our different goals.”

“I help with yours, you help with mine?” Volga asked.

Ganondorf nodded. “Or there’s the door.”

Volga glanced over his shoulder at Ghirahim and Zant, who were staring at him. Everyone watched him expectantly. “Oh, fine,” he conceded.

Ganondorf grunted approvingly. “All of you, go to bed,” he commanded, shutting the door on his way out.

Ghirahim broke into a grin. “You got in trouble.”

“Oh, shut up.” Volga picked up his helmet and left.

Later, as he was lying in bed, he thought about Ganondorf’s words. He was still surprised that the Gerudo King even bothered to interfere on his servants’ behalf. Did he truly mean what he said? Did he value having a team as much as Ghirahim and Zant seemed to?

He once appreciated having allies, after the initial resentment of his recruitment wore off. One did not say no to Ganondorf lightly, not unless he was voluntarily giving you a choice. But Vaati…

Vaati didn’t last. Ghirahim, Zant, Ganondorf—they still worked together on a regular basis, and he’d heard that Ghirahim was searching for ways to extend the twili’s lifespan just so they could continue to do so. No one had managed to successfully kill all three, and one of them always found a way to bring the others back.

Maybe, just maybe, he could tolerate sticking around until the whole Relic mess blew over. There was no way the Salesman would go down easily, and having the Demon King and his minions on Volga’s side was a resource he couldn’t turn up his nose at.

The dragon stared at his helmet before finally setting it aside and pulling the blankets higher over his chest. He sighed and rolled over, and tried to ignore the snores from one wall and the distracting noise from the other.


	13. Masters of Stealth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long! I'm moving back to Austin today, so this was my last-minute update before I packed up my computer. I know there's some logistical weirdness going on and I apologize; when I first got the idea for this fic, I never thought it'd spiral off into something this huge (because now it's tying in to some of my other projects I'm working on). That said, I'll fix it...later. I just can't at the moment, with so much life happening. This story as it is basically amounts to a rough draft. I'm getting there, though!
> 
> Thank you all so much for giving me your kudos and comments; I read every one of them, and they make me so happy.

#### Seaside, Mushroom Kingdom

#### 2 Days from the Present

The noise that jarred Ganondorf awake was familiar: a loud _pop_ followed by a _whoosh_ of air. The source of the noise clanged against the window and pulled tight. Ganondorf jerked awake and automatically reached for a sword that wasn’t there.

“Krotza!” The Demon King rolled out of bed and stumbled to his window, noticing the puncture of the hookshot through the base of the window. He wiped a hand down his face and grabbed the sill, leaning over to stare at the kid holding the other end on the sand outside.

“Onz, gor, aba chechkin?” he demanded sleepily.

Link blinked in confusion and alarm.

Ganondorf growled and leaned back to press the heels of his hands to his eyes. As his brain caught up to the rest of him, he switched back to Hylian. “What are you doing here, kid? Why didn’t you just use the door?” It was too late for this nonsense.

Link was decent enough to look rightfully embarrassed for a second and stood there looking awkward.

“No, you already broke it,” Ganondorf insisted. “Might as well come up.”

Ganondorf turned and walked away from the window as the hookshot yanked Link up to the windowsill. He didn’t even bother looking at him as he searched for where he threw his shirt. “What do you want? Is this an ambush?”

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Link shake his head. “Well, then?”

“Princess Zelda and the Salesman are at the harbor,” said Link softly.

Ganondorf grunted. He gave up looking for his shirt and sat heavily on the bed, his hand scratching his scalp. “Good for them. They think they have a head start.”

“They don’t?”

“I have a dragon.”

Link deflated.

Ganondorf sighed. “Why are you here, Link?” The use of his name made Link look up; the Demon King looked tired.

It was the most unnerving thing, to have memories of past lives and know that the huge man sitting so mildly in front of him was the same one who razed Hyrule Castle, possessed the princess, burned fields and villages and sent demon armies in all directions across the plains. How was he so human after all of that?

Ganondorf met Link’s eyes as the silence stretched. “You’re conflicted about all of this,” he guessed. Link nodded, so he continued, “The Salesman unlocked your memories, and this is the first time we’ve coexisted without immediately jumping into combat. It started with the Subspace Fiasco.” The Demon King straightened up and rubbed his sweaty hands on his pants. “I remember the last lifetime we met; you defeated Vaati, and me, in the same day. With assistance, of course.” He smirked. “I take the blame for these past conflicts. I’m not blaming you. As brave as you are, you’ve been a tool of Hylia this whole time, and my fight was with her.”

“Why?” Link asked.

“Because I used to feel very differently about the world.”

Link saw the depth of time in that feral gaze and forced himself to break contact with it. His instinctual question was drowned out by one more important, and his voice found the words before his brain did, “What changed your mind?”

They were interrupted by the door bursting open. Zant, Ghirahim, and Volga stood there, two out of three half-dressed but all brandishing weapons, their collective roar of challenge muddying each other’s words.

Link stumbled back and drew his sword automatically, lunging forward as Volga threw forward his hand, shifting it to dragon claw.

Ganondorf moved at the wrong instant.

Link’s sword slid under his shoulder blade, through his back, as Ganondorf stood up to quell the fight. Volga pulled back at the last second and ended up hitting the floor. Ghirahim, Zant, and Link stared in a second of horror as Ganondorf’s back arched, and he exhaled haltingly, red splattering the bed, Link’s sword, and oozing from the Demon King’s chest.

Link took his hand off the handle and backed up a step, eyes wide.

Ganondorf closed his eyes. “Take it out,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Link pulled the Master Sword from Ganondorf and watched him crumple to his hands and knees. Ghirahim sprang forward and shoved Link against the wall, his pale skin turning dark and metallic. Volga got up to join Zant next to Ganondorf’s side, trying to stop the blood. Both of them decided to cauterize the wound with dragon fire as Ghirahim’s hand clenched tighter around Link’s throat.

Ganondorf jerked as Volga’s hand seared his skin. “Release him, Ghirahim,” he gasped.

The Master Sword clattered to the wooden floor. Link tried to pry Ghirahim’s grip off his throat right up until he released him; he fell to the floor, panting for breath. Ghirahim stalked back toward his master and took Zant’s place at his side. “We could still kill him.”

“No.” Ganondorf shook his head and tried to sit up. Ghirahim and Volga leaned him against the bed, where he pointed at his armor lying a few feet away. “There is a small, empty bottle with a Poe in it,” he breathed. “Give it to me.”

It was Link who managed to get to it first. He knew what they looked like, and he handed it off meekly to a glaring Zant, who snatched it from his hands. Ganondorf took it and worked open the cork himself.

Everyone else stood back as the Demon King sucked the violet energy from the Poe and rolled the bottle away.

His golden eyes passed over each of them in turn: Ghirahim, still shifted into a metallic monster; Zant, who lacked his helmet and his red hair stuck out in an oddly-boyish fashion; Volga, who looked angrier on his behalf than Ganondorf expected. Link stood back from the other three, reluctant and ashamed.

“So, now that we’re all here,” Ganondorf smirked, “I’d advise you all not to run with swords in the house.”

Zant gave a nervous little laugh, and the tension in the room dropped a few degrees. Ganondorf set a hand on his side and noticed the bleeding stopped. He settled back with a soft groan. “I’m not dead. We’re still leaving in the morning.”

“Will it be healed by then?”

Ganondorf rolled his head toward Volga, who immediately crossed his arms and planted his feet nonchalantly as if it didn’t matter. Ganondorf snorted. “A dragon lord would not be felled by a single flesh wound. What makes you think I would, even by the Master Sword? That’s why I told him to take it out.”

“You didn’t come here to fight?” Zant asked.

Link shook his head.

“The boy was protecting himself. He came to talk to me,” Ganondorf explained. “It seems he’s having doubts about Sheikah and the princess.”

“Took you long enough,” Volga muttered.

Link glared. “I still don’t trust you.”

“Enough,” Ganondorf commanded them. Everyone else fell silent. “Link, you had something to say to me before we were interrupted.”

Link couldn’t believe how Ganondorf managed to pull off regal while shirtless and sitting against his bed with a dimly-glowing puncture in his side. The Demon King remained the center of attention as his three lieutenants stood around him, waiting for his command. The floor might’ve been a throne and it would’ve changed nothing.

And yet. Link’s eyes flickered only momentarily on the other three; if Ganondorf wanted him dead, he would’ve been: back at the lake; in Clock Town; on this floor.

He took a heavy breath and answered: “You destroyed Hyrule in every timeline but this one.”

Ganondorf waited for him to continue.

“Zant’s now here.” Link gestured to the twili. “You’re making an army out of people hard to knock down on their own.”

“And you’re worried that I’m planning something?” Ganondorf actually laughed at the glare Link threw him, a rather pained one while he held his side. It didn’t last long. “If you’re so worried about me, boy, why aren’t you on that boat with the Salesman?”

“Because…” Link ground his teeth nervously, but he picked up the Master Sword and wiped the Demon King’s blood off on his tunic, “I saw what he did to Vaati.”

A flash of red and yellow diamonds heralded the return of Ghirahim’s more playful form. “Ah, the Hero doesn’t trust Old Salesman.”

“Well, he’s not wrong,” said Volga.

“Who is he?” Link asked.

“The god Deception,” said Ganondorf. “By the name he sounds fit for Team Villain over here—”

“Are we really calling it that?” Zant whispered incredulously. Ghirahim waved him down.

“—but he’s always been Hylia’s spy.” Ganondorf’s eyes squinted with wry amusement at Ghirahim, who was preening at the use of the name. He was the one who ironically coined it, after all. “He gathers deific power by turning others into his tokens. While he wasn’t overtly powerful at first, he sucks their energy dry as long as he has them, and time has given him ample opportunity to become a real threat.”

“Are you really behind all this?” Link asked.

Ganondorf shrugged. “Boy, even if I was, I don’t get much out of total annihilation. If Hyrule wants to paint its actions as always just and noble, ask yourself why it always seems to regress instead of advance? I will tell you, there are times when I’ve wanted to and done terrible things in the name of revenge, and I can’t bring myself to regret them. But I’m not the only evil in the world, and even when I’m not there, the kingdom seems to get itself into trouble.”

Link frowned.

“You don’t want it to make as much sense as it does.”

“I’m not stupid,” Link countered.

“Well?” Ganondorf’s side was closing up. He sat up further. “If leaving shiny objects of incredible power lying around and manipulating a child into battling a rival god isn’t the definition of questionable behavior, maybe you should look at yourself, too. Will you trust me this time, as you did when you unfroze me in subspace? Is that why you came, or isn’t it?”

Link nodded.

Ganondorf smirked. “Then I’ll see you two days from now, at Bowser’s Castle.”

The kid, to his credit, was quieter going down than coming up. Ganondorf and his lieutenants watched him climb out of the window and sprint off into the dark across the beach.

“That kid has no respect for other people’s property,” said Volga, staring at the split in the windowsill left by the hookshot.

“Neither do we,” Ganondorf replied. They all chuckled.

When morning came, Ganondorf summoned Ghirahim to help him into his armor. “Another scar, Master,” said the demon, tracing the new, red line on his side. Ganondorf shivered and slapped his hand away.

“Sorry,” said Ghirahim, smirking.

“No, you’re not.”

They slipped on his shirt without pulling anything open and tightened his breastplate as normal. Ganondorf sucked in a breath and tried not to show the pain on his face, but the Master Sword always left unfortunate reminders of its celestial powers. The pain would’ve already evaporated from a normal weapon.

Ghirahim flinched at the same time he did. “I felt that.”

“Leave it.”

“Master, we’re not in a fight _yet_.” He loosened the strap.

Ganondorf decided not to argue. The four strode out of the inn, the three lieutenants flanking the Demon King. “Volga!” he called.

The earth shuddered beneath his feet and a large shadow fell across the beach. The great red dragon hunkered down as everyone swung on. Ganondorf settled above his shoulder blades and clung to the edges of his scales as Volga took a running start across the strand. Dockhands and fishertoads ducked as he pounced into the air. The palm trees swayed in their wake.

…

Lavalava Island: they could see it on the clear horizon far before they felt it beneath their feet. The hours stretched as the dragon soared above the clouds, riding the air currents. At first Ganondorf’s soreness kept him from relaxing, and for a while it got worse. He shifted repeatedly and tried lying along the base of Volga’s neck to relieve the rubbing his armor was doing against his side.

Zant hid in Ghirahim’s shadow. “You’re both fidgeting. Is that injury still a problem?” he asked.

Ghirahim flailed his hands irritably as he walked along the dragon’s spine, apparently unaware of gravity. “Curse that boy,” he said angrily. “I should beat him for causing us this much discomfort. How dare he!”

Ganondorf grunted noncommittally. The sun beat down on his face and neck despite attempts to shield it with his uninjured arm. The heat and the pain together made every flap of wings dreadful.

“I could’ve drawn it out. Strangled him until he bruised, kicked him down the stairs. It wouldn’t have been over quickly.”

“Ghirahim,” Ganondorf interrupted suddenly, “be quiet.”

Ghirahim looked offended.

“I almost have him convinced.” Ganondorf lifted his arm and looked plaintively at his sword. “He’s not going to aid us if you push him off a mountain.”

“I said ‘stairs,’ Master.”

“We’re _going_ to a mountain.” Ganondorf sat up reluctantly. They both winced. “The only stairs you’ll find is in Bowser’s Castle. And don’t forget: Princess Peach and Princess Zelda are friends.”

“A nest of enemies. Bowser does what Peach wants,” Zant added helpfully.

Ghirahim frowned. “So we’re coming in right after you and I go back in time, yes?”

“Presumably, yes.”

He crossed his arms. “Then what happens?”

“Depends on what happened to the Triforce when I touched it,” Ganondorf said. “Where did Peach get it? She stole it from me in the past. She got it because I went back in time.” It dawned on him then, just how it happened: he’d had his piece when he first found himself landed in Hyrule Castle. It was gone when he woke up in the dungeon. “She likely took mine first. Zelda would have questioned me if hers was already missing.” He grinned and rubbed his chin. “This is the second time she’s stolen it. We’re currently living in a third iteration of events.”

Ghirahim squinted at him. “I don’t follow you.”

“Okay, Peach stole the intact Triforce straight from Zelda the first time,” explained Ganondorf, puzzling it out as he spoke. “I noticed things were wrong when I saw evidence of the Twilight Realm bleeding into the desert without my calling. That’s why I set out for the east; any number of things could be wrong, but usually they were driven by me. Rosalina informed me that the other Relics were missing. So I come here to Lavalava Island where Bowser has landed his castle to recruit him to my services, and lo! The completed Triforce. I wished Ghirahim and I back into the past—that’s round one.” Ganondorf held up a second finger. “When I touched it, it broke apart—because it just _does that_ , don’t interrupt me, Zant—and I acquired the Piece of Power. Round Two is when I arrived in the past with that acquired Piece and it was stolen by Peach _again_ , this time from its three Bearers. So here’s the question: will it be gone when we get there, or will Round Three have the Triforce?”

“I can’t handle time travel anymore, Master. Let the world blow up,” Ghirahim complained.

Ganondorf growled. “Be serious, Ghirahim!”

“I have an idea,” volunteered Zant.

“That concerns me, but go on.”

Zant pretended not to hear that. “We’re just in the second timeline. There is no third. You and Ghirahim going back to the past puts us here, which puts the Triforce back in Peach’s hands, which means there is no past Ganondorf and Ghirahim having a fight with Peach and Bowser.”

“Completely alternate universe?” Ganondorf suggested.

Zant nodded. “Precisely.”

“Then there’s really no need to wait for me to show up, is there,” said Ganondorf lightly. “We’ll all go in and give our friend the ultimatum of handing over the Relic, or becoming turtle soup.”

“How’s your cooking these days?” Ghirahim asked Ganondorf. The Demon King snorted and replied, “Better than my side.”

Conversation petered out as Ganondorf and Ghirahim nursed their pain. Zant thought about it, then finally broke the silence with, “Time travel actually makes no sense at all.”

“Hmm,” agreed Ganondorf, his grimace going away for a second. “It doesn’t, does it. It’s all paradoxes or alternate universes or loops, and it all depends on a thousand factors we have no control over or knowledge about.”

“Is it just us or does this confuse the likes of Hylia and Sheikah, too?” Zant asked.

“Oh, it confuses everyone, don’t worry.”

Zant seemed a little mollified by that.

Ghirahim perked up abruptly, staring off into the water. “Wait, what’s that?”

Zant and Volga looked. Ganondorf stood up to avoid twisting his side open and stared at the town-sized circular rift off their course in the ocean. It looked like someone pasted a black circle over a picture of the water; water rushed toward it on all sides, but then it simply disappeared into nothingness.

“Fly us over,” Ganondorf commanded.

Ghirahim and Zant both started in alarm.

“We’re not getting close, you fools. The clouds above it are fine,” Ganondorf sat down but didn’t tear his eyes away. “The nature of the the void is a mystery to everyone. A rift this big might show us something useful.”

Volga turned off course and sped higher for the cloud line. The wind whistled over his scales and make communicating difficult. Ganondorf held his side still as he raised his voice. “I’m looking for something.”

“What?” Zant demanded.

“A pull.” Ganondorf took a deep breath and irritably pulled one side of his breastplate open, leaving the straps where they hung. “Gravity pulling us in means it’s a black hole, not void. Lack of pull means it’s actual void.”

“What does that prove?” Ghirahim wondered.

Ganondorf didn’t answer.

Zant refused at first to look down as they made a pass overhead. Ghirahim gripped Volga’s back, and Ganondorf looked down. Aside from the water gushing in and then abruptly disappearing, there was no unnatural air current. A flock of gulls passed over it without incident.

“Are we done yet, Master?”

No sound came from the void below them. It swallowed the ocean it invaded with no acknowledgement of its own magnitude. Ganondorf stared too long and felt himself starting to drift in the wide nothingness that was both freedom and terror. Was there any thought in the Void? Could Demise exist even in that thing?

“Master!”

Ghirahim’s unnerved cry brought the Demon King back to focus. “Let’s get back on course,” Ganondorf muttered. “We’re almost there.”

Volga gratefully turned away and sped toward the island, which was now the visible home of lush jungle and palm beaches. Ganondorf wanted to land halfway up the mountain and spare them all a trek through the miserable, mosquito-ridden humidity, but landing at the gate might attract some initial unwanted attention. Better to be sneaky than jumped.

Here was hoping Zelda and the Salesman hadn’t teleported their team up to Bowser’s Castle. It was the four of them versus an unknown number of assailants calling themselves heroes. How were Ganondorf’s people going to get the Triforce from Bowser and Peach before someone ran off with it? After all, they didn’t need to beat Ganondorf’s team; they just needed to get the Golden Power.

At least there was some possibility of Link’s assistance, unlikely as that seemed. And Ganondorf finally understood what unnerved the boy so badly when they first encountered the fissure outside of Kakariko.

It was one more way to appeal to him.

Ganondorf set his hand on his twanging side and prepared for a very long day.


	14. A Worse Idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO SORRY about this chapter for a lot of reasons: I just moved, so it took me too long and too much effort, and I'm not happy with it, but it literally took me this long to write the thing and I can't stand to look at it anymore, so I'm shoving it at you in the hopes you don't hate me for how it turned out. (All will be corrected eventually. I just don't have the energy right now.)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this long. This is not the final chapter, as there are still some things I wanted to do and moblins I have not yet done anything with. I'm aware of these shortcomings.
> 
> If, by some miraculous feat, I managed to keep you entertained throughout this chapter, leave some kudos! Tell your friends! Post a comment! These things are my lifeblood. I have a better fic in the works right now, and as soon as I have a few buffer chapters written, I'll start posting them on a regular basis so it's not the haphazard last-minute panic this one sometimes was. If you're interested in the origins of the Salesman, the god war between Demise and Hylia, or anything about the tribes and beginnings of Hyrule, you'll want to check out my next project, The War for Heaven. In the meantime, I'll see you all next week!

#### Lavalava Island

#### 1 Day from the Present

Volga landed unceremoniously by the river, on an unfortunate slippery slope which was the only place clear enough to allow Volga’s descent. Ganondorf refused help as he slid off the dragon’s scales, and the four of them soon stood beside a towering waterfall adjacent to their destination.

“Through the thicket?” Ghirahim asked dubiously.

Ganondorf nodded. He didn’t speak much as he trailed behind Volga and Ghirahim, who took turns hacking and slashing their way through the thick, green undergrowth to the nearest trail. They wanted to avoid locals as well as Hylia’s company, and together they were much quieter than they had been overall on their journey together. Zant’s eyes travelled to the Demon King’s stiff pace. Ganondorf shut down any would-be future questions with a simple, hard stare.

Ghirahim dripped with scorn at the humidity. Volga shuddered at the claustrophobic tangle of vines around them. Zant swatted at a new bug every five seconds. Ganondorf kept his breathing steady, aching furiously. If it had been anything but the Master Sword, really, this wouldn’t be an issue…but it _had_ been. Therein laid the problem. Ganondorf kept his hand away from his side but continued to climb stiffly up the slope, keeping his breath steady and unobtrusive, all the while sweating and clammy under armor that was only weighing him down.

They cleared a good while, slow but steady until Ghirahim held an arm out to stop Volga. “I’m getting tired,” he declared. “And Zant’s armor isn’t made for this sort of weather.”

“I’m fine, Ghirahi—”

“So let’s take a minute to make sure we’re not being followed!”

This appeased Volga and Zant at once, and they flopped to a nearby rock and the ground, respectively. “I hate nature,” muttered Zant, plucking dead leaves from his robes.

The twili proceeded to shed his helmet and shake his head to get a little air. Ganondorf shooed Volga off the rock and took it from him. Ghirahim turned to them all and gave a flourishing bow. “I’ll be back shortly, after I’ve determined how close the enemy is to us.” He vanished in a cloud of diamonds.

“Well.” Volga crossed his arms and leaned against a trunk. “This is going to take a while.”

“Aren’t we ahead of them?” Zant complained.

“Not necessarily.” Ganondorf would have to thank Ghirahim later for the excuse to rest. “Both the Salesman and Zelda can use magic. They may have teleported their people past us, depending on their plan.”

“You and Ghirahim could have teleported us,” Volga pointed out.

Ganondorf scowled. “Teleporting a group multiple times nearly broke Ghirahim. I won’t allow him to make the same mistake twice on the eve of battle.”

“Fair enough.” Volga shrugged and exhaled slowly, blowing gentle smoke out of his nostrils. “I just thought I’d ask. I wasn’t there for that part.”

Silence swept over the team as they passed around the waterskin. “What’s taking Ghirahim so long?” Zant asked.

Almost as soon as he’d said it, there was a flurry of red and yellow diamonds as the demon sword reappeared, without his mantle and sporting a cut across his cheek. “They know we’re here!” he gasped.

Volga, Zant, and Ganondorf leapt to their feet. Roughly southeast of their position, they heard a crash that splintered a heavy amount of wood and caused a tree to topple in the distance.

“All right!” Volga spread his feet wider and bared his teeth in a predatory grin. “I’ve been waiting for this, Sheikah! Round Two!”

“You idiot! We can’t take them like this!” Ghirahim snapped.

“What do you mean we can’t take them like this?!” Volga snapped back.

“Would you all just shut up, they’re going to find us faster!” Zant yelled.

Ganondorf yanked the side strap on his breastplate back into place and tromped up to the others. “Listen to me,” he growled. Zant, Volga, and Ghirahim fell silent and turned. “We have survived death, we can survive this. Volga, just north of us is the mountain where Bowser’s Castle landed. Our goal is to keep them from getting there. You and Zant will jump them as they pass this way and take out the rear guard in a bubble of Twilight. Zant will worry about surface assault; don’t you dare waste time dueling in human guise.” Volga grunted acknowledgement. Zant nodded. Ganondorf laid a hand on Ghirahim’s shoulder. “You’re with me.”

Now was the time to prove himself right; Vaati never learned the benefits of a tribe, and Volga was on the fence. Ganondorf and Ghirahim split off and tore through the thick underbrush, causing as much racket and damage between the trees as they could. They hopped over dips in the earth and kicked up grass in an obvious trail. Ghirahim vaulted over a rotted tree just ahead; Ganondorf followed, planting his hand on the trunk and hopping over. He heard the crunch of decayed bark accompanied by his hand sinking through; his breastplate jerked against a half-healed stab wound and he faltered, landing hard on the ground with the momentum rolling him onto his back. Ghirahim yelped a few feet ahead.

Ganondorf hissed in agitated pain and stood back up as Ghirahim found his way over. “Master,” Ghirahim gasped as he approached. Ganondorf reached out and snatched his arm, dragging him closer.

Ghirahim didn’t miss a beat: he turned the aggressive gesture into a fluid, familiar spin onto Ganondorf’s arm. The demon leaned back as Ganondorf set his hand on Ghirahim’s chest and pulled out a huge, black sword. Ghirahim grunted, flickered, and dissipated into the blade.

The Demon King didn’t have time to get the Triforce without Zelda and the Salesman interfering, and one of them wanted Ghirahim for his collection. Keeping Ghirahim within the blade eliminated that threat, and the added strength Ganondorf felt through contact with the sword lessened the itching ache that nagged at his side. He swung the blade around a few times just to make sure: not perfect, but definitely better.

Ghirahim’s ever-present link to him hummed with appreciation: _“Clever, Master.”_

_“I can’t have my best lieutenant getting captured by an eight-bit god.”_

Mental laughter echoed through his mind as Ganondorf turned and waited for the sounds of fighting. It didn’t take long; the crash through the trees became louder, and once Ganondorf thought he saw a little pink ball bounce over the canopy. _“Ugh, they found Kirby.”_

_“Not to sound like Fi, Master, but our probability of success is dwindling.”_

_“Focus, Ghirahim.”_ Ganondorf exhaled, reaching inside himself for his magic. _“I don’t intend to go down today.”_

_“I know.”_

That thought sustained him as they heard the first crash and roar from the south. They recognized the eruption of twilight that sprang up over a thicket down the path and Volga’s great wings as he shot up between the trees. They weren’t far.

Ganondorf sucked in a breath and watched Volga spew a line of fire between him and the enemy. Staying out of the way for the moment, all he saw at first was a blur of white and red sling a trail of fire right back.

_“Ha! Leave it to Mario to fight literal fire to fire.”_

_“It’s not very effective.”_

There was a rustle on Ganondorf’s left: Ganondorf threw his palm out and blasted the trees in that direction, sending splinters flying everywhere after the shadow bolt. Zelda shook her head as she got up and looked at him; for a single heartbeat, no one moved. Then she sprinted toward the volcano.

Ganondorf took off after her.

Without being able to let go of his own sword, Ganondorf forwent the option of his beast form barreling through the underbrush and charged after the princess on foot. He pursued her down animal trails and forgot about the dull stinging in his side. Zelda kept her feet—more agile than he, but less able to run or chop straight through obstacles. He was gaining ground.

Suddenly, an invisible force ricocheted off the tree to his left from behind him. Ganondorf glanced back and ducked a second charge from the Salesman wearing Vaati’s mask.

“Just die!” the Salesman shrieked, just as Ghirahim let out his own in Ganondorf’s mind. The Demon King’s heart pounded: they didn’t have time to stop and fight. Zelda couldn’t be allowed the Triforce first. He kept running.

_“You have been seriously injured by the Master Sword! You assured us it was a scratch!”_

It wasn’t important now. Ganondorf kept running.

_“I can only suppress it so long, Master! Do you know what will happen when your body catches up to the abuse you’re putting it through?”_

The wind and his breath made a drumbeat rhythm in his ears: _hhuh, hhuh._ His body knew how to chase prey, how to leave distractions in the background. The sun above danced on the trail between the leaves of the canopy, beneath the sound of his racing heart. Ganondorf’s claws dug into his palms; the fact that he had claws, how his toes barely touched the earth as he ran, the hunch of his shoulders—he leaned on the Beast. He didn’t have to care what happened to his body, so long as he got there first and ended this mess.

Ganondorf slashed through a vine in front of him and pounced at the princess. A flash of wind force caught him in the side and slammed him against the base of a tree. Zelda sprawled, hit by the clumsy strike at the Demon King.

Behind them, back at the other fight, a dragon roared.

The Salesman approached, readying another. Zelda stumbled to her feet and pulled her bow from the charged, humid air before her—static crackled around the Light Arrows she conjured. Both the Salesman and Zelda turned to Ganondorf.

The Demon King panted and set his hand on his side, fingers shaking as he drew back blood. His sword lay a foot away.

_“Do not turn back to yourself, Ghirahim.”_

_“I can help you!”_

_“I said **no**!”_

He sneered at the Salesman. “You think you’ve got me,” he gasped. His imperious gaze swept over the princess, who stared at him just as coldly. “I always return.”

“Not this time, Demise. I’m still missing a mask,” the Salesman said quietly.

Zelda pulled back her bowstring, a bead of sweat trailing down the side of her face. Ganondorf glanced at his sword.

_“…Remember the mission, Ghirahim.”_

A protest rose in his mind. Ganondorf shut it out, his bloody hand beginning to burn with dark fire.

A waterskin landed in the center of the circle.

Zelda and the Salesman glanced back anxiously to find the source. Ganondorf saw it soar from the branches of a tree behind the Salesman, and immediately found the stealthily-hidden Hero among its leaves.

_“Maybe he’d make a decent Gerudo after all.”_

Ganondorf released the dark fire at the Salesman. Zelda shot toward the tree without thinking. Link let go of his arrow and dropped from the branch as the Light Arrow decapitated the top of the tree. Link rolled and shot two more directly at the Salesman before sprinting aside. The Salesman ducked Link’s first, got blasted by dark fire from behind, and took the last two arrows in the torso. Ganondorf lunged for his sword as Zelda stared disbelieving at Link.

“I don’t believe the Salesman!” Link declared from behind another tree. “Princess! Believe Ganondorf, just once!”

“Are you mad?” Zelda hissed. She ran to the Salesman, her bow and arrows dissipating in motes of golden light. “What have you done?!”

Ganondorf limped past them to the tree Link leaned against. The kid rubbed his eyes and looked up tearfully at the Demon King. “Don’t make me regret it,” he pleaded.

Ganondorf set a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Then he turned toward the volcano.

Link and Ganondorf heard a hollow, wicked laugh from behind them. They spared a glance back and saw the Salesman rise up like a marionette, his Vaati mask still in place. Thin, spidersilk strings appeared at his fingertips, each connected to a mask that rose from his pack. Every one of them rattled menacingly. Zelda backed up.

_“Run, Master.”_

Link traded a look with Ganondorf. Ganondorf snorted. “I told you so.”

They ran.

Or, at least, they tried. The sky darkened with the color red, and though Ghirahim was back in Ganondorf’s hand, he limped like a wounded animal, snarling and panting. Link attempted to shoot another pair of arrows behind them as Ganondorf kept on ahead, and could barely hear Zelda over the rise of the wind not to hurt Link.

Clouds swirled high over the jungle. Ganondorf glanced up, eyeing the dangerous weather with apprehension he would never admit.

Ghirahim sounded strained. _“Make this quick, Master.”_

Ganondorf stopped, turned, and stomped his foot down into the earth, sending a shockwave that toppled Zelda more than it affected the floating Salesman. But it stopped her from pegging him with Light, and her bow dissipated a second time as she howled furiously.

“They’re not thinking clearly,” Link said worriedly. They kept up their haphazard sprint up the mountain. “Zelda’s not thinking clearly.”

“Stay focused,” Ganondorf insisted. “You made your decision.”

The tornado touched down before them, blocking their ascent. Black clouds in a red sky heralded the end of their short alliance, with the Salesman quickly catching up. Roots were pulled from the earth, small animals scattered in terror; Volga roared closer. Zelda yelled something, but it was drowned out by the Salesman’s booming echo: “YOU DARE UNDO WHAT THEY SACRIFICED FOR.”

Ganondorf flipped the Salesman off with a thumb tracing up his throat and outward from underneath his chin. _“Ghirahim, what is he talking about?”_

_“The Titans, Demiurgi—the Golden Goddesses and other Creators.”_

_“Right. I was wondering why he seemed so invested.”_

_“Master, we’re going to **die**. I’m losing control on your injuries. Please be serious.”_

_“I am. Finish this with Link in the likely event that I fall in battle.”_

_“You know I’m only half myself without you.”_

Ganondorf squeezed his sword’s hilt in response and shoved the blade into the earth, holding on against the tornado’s winds. “Link! Can you do anything?”

Link hastily pulled out his Ocarina. Both Zelda and the Salesman spotted it in horror.

_“This kid!”_

Link’s fingers flew across the Ocarina of Time, meeting the Salesman’s eyes. The masks pointed toward him all at once and fired.

Time slowed down.

Link set his hand on Ganondorf and released him from the effects. The Demon King felt the wind, saw the KO blast heading for them, in half time—Volga was slowly diving toward them. Kirby and Luigi were hightailing it through the trees toward Salesman and Zelda. The storm winds were half their power, and still ruffled their hair and clothes, but both Ganondorf and Link sprinted out of the line of fire and took off up the mountain.

“Can you teleport us?” Link cried.

Oh, hell, they were screwed, anyway—Ganondorf clenched Link’s shoulder and drew from the earth’s strength instead of his own; they vanished mid-stride.

Link and Ganondorf ran into the double entrance doors of Bowser’s Castle and bounced back to the ground.

Link blinked the stars out of his eyes and sat up. Ganondorf laid still.

Huh? Link reached over and shook his shoulder.

_“Master?”_

Ganondorf didn’t respond.

Link froze. For a moment his breath caught in his throat, and then he glanced up at the castle itself: set upon the top of the volcano, and especially under the magically-charged red, ominous sky, the Hero thought it looked more like Hell’s gate than a palace.

He heard a small pop behind him: Ghirahim knelt over his master, his fist pounding on Ganondorf’s breastplate. “YOU SAID YOU HAD A PLAN!”

“You lie. You always lie,” Ghirahim buried his fingers in his pristine white hair and choked back a sob. “I don’t have time to bring you back! I don’t know what to do! How could you not tell me what to wish for?!”

Link stood up and hesitated, but he offered a hand down to Ghirahim. “We don’t have time,” he rasped.

Ghirahim slapped his hand away. “Let the world end!” he shouted.

Link narrowed his eyes and grabbed Ghirahim’s mantle, yanking him to his feet. “Wish that what Ganondorf wanted will come true. Are you coming? Or not?”

Ghirahim stared at Link as if he slapped him.

Link pulled his hookshot from his belt and pointed it at an exterior window. “You’re safer as a sword,” he muttered.

“You’re safer without me,” Ghirahim warned darkly. Link shrugged and pulled the trigger, ascending to the window.

Ghirahim looked down at his quiet master.

How was there any hope left?

…

Link grabbed the top of the windowsill and flew into the corridor feet first, knocking back the first surprised koopa guard. He followed through with a downward elbow to the top of the second’s head and sprinted for the next door. 

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do once he got to the top of the tower, but he knew he had to get there. His distrust of the Salesman was too strong, and he disliked how Zelda acted around him. That was all the motivation he needed as he sprinted up the stairs two and three at a time, danced around traps, tossed a palm-sized bomb at a handful of guards (one of which caught it), until he found himself outside Bowser and Peach’s chamber doors.

“Of _course_ I sent them away.”

Link opened the door to a very confused Peach and Bowser sitting on their bed. Link waved.

“Link?” Peach asked incredulously.

Link saw the Triforce hanging over their heads. “I need that,” he said plaintively.

Bowser started to get up. Peach threw out a hand to stop him. “We invited Ganondorf.”

Link stared at her. “Why?”

“I was asked to.” Peach glanced at him quizzically. “You…You can’t be here. Did Zelda send you?” Her voice took on a note of apprehension. “I was just borrowing…”

“Where’s the other Relics?” Link demanded.

Peach only looked more lost. “What Relics?”

“Who asked you for the Triforce?” Link’s voice echoed angrily in the chamber.

Bowser lumbered menacingly toward Link, growling.

“Bowser, don’t!” Peach stood up and threw her hands out in front of the Triforce. “Princess Rosalina asked me to get it! I didn’t mean any harm! I just thought that since I had it, I should get rid of the guy that keeps hurting my friend!”

“Hyrule is dying because of you,” said Link pleadingly. “Please. Give it back.”

Peach met Link’s eyes and shrank. “I didn’t know,” she said. “I thought I was doing a good thing.”

Link nodded and approached the bed. Golden light filled the room, and the back of Link’s hand warmed. The goddess’ final gift to the world knew him.

Peach stepped off the bed as Link stood on it. The Triforce descended into his hands.

Link steeled himself. He should just wish things back to normal, but what did normal mean? The Salesman and Zelda had talked a lot about normalcy, how they wanted it to continue. The former even literally admitted to wanting Ganondorf to stay his vicious role.

Link noticed it wasn’t the Salesman who ever fought the Demon King.

The one lying still outside the front doors of the palace.

The one Ghirahim wouldn’t leave.

Link ground his teeth: what was normal? Was it really that good?

Link grasped the floating triangles with both hands. “I wish for what Ganondorf would’ve wished.”

Peach and Bowser stood slack-jawed as the Triforce burst apart.

Link gasped.

A low rumbling met his ears from the foundation of the castle—no, from the volcano. Peach and Bowser stared at him in shock.

“Link! What did you _do!_ ”

Zelda and the Salesman stood in the doorway. Behind them stood Kirby and Luigi. Link chose not to think about Mario’s absence as he met the princess’ horrified gaze. “Something different.”

The palace shook. Bowser and Peach clung to each other and stared at the shaking roof, which dismantled brick by brick into an abyssal-looking sky. Every visible star was swallowed, light stretching as if toward a black hole, pooling toward the center into nothingness.

Link’s hat flew off, then his hookshot from his belt. He tried to grab it and was swept into the sky.

The last thing he remembered was terror. The last thing he saw on everyone else was the same thing.

…

Ghirahim’s hand glitched. For a split second, as he knelt beside his master with his fingers stroking a red mane, the tips of his fingers were half a centimeter off from the rest of his hand, and then it was back, like nothing happened. Ghirahim felt the ground shake and looked up.

Oh. The world was ending.

Ghirahim clenched Ganondorf’s sleeve and stared into the swirling supernova engulfing the sky. Behind him, the moblins—late to the party, he noted hollowly—appeared in full battle gear, led by the Artist.

“You’re too late,” Ghirahim muttered deadpan, his hair and mantle a mess. “We’re all…too late.”

The Artist sat down next to him, and the other moblins sat circling them, and together they died.

…

_Ganondorf. Link._

Ganondorf opened his eyes. This place was familiar—they laid on a reflective surface surrounded by clouds. A dreamscape.

_You’re both asleep._

Ganondorf’s hand flew to his side and felt nothing. He sat up abruptly and looked around. “Where’s Ghirahim?”

_Waiting for you._

Ganondorf stood up as Link opened his eyes. The Demon King saw no one else, but he knew that voice. “Rosalina?”

_I remember you telling them my name was Amity._

“You were behind this?” Ganondorf frowned. “You set this up. You set me up.”

_I set the world up. You wanted to be unchained. I wanted everyone unchained. Don’t worry; you don’t remember the details of the past few days. You likely won’t; that was another lifetime._

“What are you talking about?”

Link stood up and stood next to Ganondorf. “Who’s talking?” he asked quietly.

_The goddess of friendship and wishes, who gave everything a face._

Ganondorf snarled. “What did you do?”

_Just like both of you have reincarnations, so does the universe, sometimes. I have seen a few of them play out, mostly to the same effect. It saddened me to see so many powerless in their own fate. I had to help._

“By destroying the Triforce?” Link asked.

_The curse the gods placed on Demise prevented him to make lasting change to his own fate. Therefore, he could not be the one to wish it. The events played out as they were supposed to; the purpose of Ganondorf going back in time was to gain you as an ally, as I knew Zelda would be blinded by the rhetoric and memories the Salesman would provide._

_Naturally, some things won’t be the same as you might vaguely recall them. I knew there was a chance that certain feelings would remain unchanged, and others would. Your happiness meant more to me than our companionship._

Link glanced sidelong at Ganondorf: did that mean what it sounded like?

Ganondorf glanced at the ground, watching his own reflection. Rosalina appeared next to him on the surface, just over his shoulder. “I don’t understand.”

Rosalina set her hand on Ganondorf’s shoulder and kissed behind his ear. Ganondorf touched her face.

“Things never incarnate quite the same way twice,” she said gently, “Live your new life. Be happy, for a change.”

Ganondorf took a step back and turned to her. “Thank you,” he said. Rosalina smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. Ganondorf’s voice sounded odd to his own ears, too gravelly and halting. “I wish you would’ve told me.”

She set a finger alongside her nose. “Things always go wrong for you, remember?”

“Not anymore,” he reminded her.

“Go. Find your own fate. And if you both fall into the same roles you once did, it is because you chose it.” Rosalina kissed her hands and blew a kiss in both of their directions. “And don’t forget to wish upon a star.”

Link bowed respectfully to Rosalina and glanced at Ganondorf. “I’ll see you on the other side,” he said softly.

Ganondorf nodded. His smirk almost split his face in half. “Something tells me Sheikah won’t be happy to see us.”

“You’re on your own for that one,” Rosalina agreed.


	15. Heroes of the Universe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I return! It was impossible to write a chapter amidst displacement, and living on a couch, and finding a job, and, and, and...BUT! Things are looking more settled now, and even though this was a shorter update than I intended, the next one is going to be pretty fun. I appreciate all the comments and kudos y'all have left for me, and I hope this makes someone's day better. Regular updates should return until the end of the story. Note I said 'should.'

#### Gerudo Valley, Hylia

#### The New Present

Things were a little weird—at first.

The Demon King hadn’t recalled Lavalava having such dry weather, or having a bed he could fit in. Hard morning sunlight streamed through an open air window of an ascetic, stone room. Aside from a bed and a wardrobe, the only things adorning the room were a hand-woven rug, personal articles of clothing in the corner, and an oversized raven’s skull adorned with feathers hanging over his door. If a thousand lifetimes separated Ganondorf from his homeland, he would still know Gerudo Valley’s blistering, stale heat by feel alone. He threw off the sheet and sat up.

Distant sparring outside; he almost choked when he heard a “Hyah!” and Ghirahim shouting indignant obscenities, yet there was no panic. Ghirahim laughed that stupid laugh of his followed by another few hard clangs of metal. Ganondorf paced to the window and looked out.

Gerudo Fortress looked like something straight out of his early memories—spring grew small, white flowers on a small patch of cacti under his window, and his sister Gerudo were pacing through their errands and crafts. A water party was returning from the direction of the Sand Sea, each of them carrying skins and clay vessels full of water for the rest of the tribe. Others were at the potter’s wheel under the shade of the fortress, sharpening weapons, taking care of the horses. Epona stood next to Darhún at the water trough. Ganondorf’s breath caught in his throat and he ran a set of calloused fingers through his hair.

How was this real? Gerudo Valley was a barren husk, and had been for a very long time. He had to be dead. But why would the gods reward him with anything?

He brought his right hand down and stared at the dimly-glowing piece of Power shining in contrast on his dark skin. The dry air, the rough stone of the windowsill, the smell of peppers roasting in the fortress halls were no feats of imagination. His calloused fingers knew the feel of reality better than his mind did.

Ganondorf wandered out of his room, following the scent of roasted peppers. He passed a pair of his sisters fixing their ponytails, their belts laden with tools for the quarry.

“Tsat si, Ganondorf,” one of them chirped brightly.

“Tsat…” Ganondorf’s voice faltered on the words, which brought both women to a curious stop. He waved a dismissive hand, his voice wrapping around his native tongue, “It’s nothing.”

The second sister’s eyes glanced him over in mild concern before continuing on her way with her partner.

Ganondorf didn’t understand the look until he got to the wide, spacious kitchen. It was one of the largest rooms in the compound, a giant square with a hole in the center of the high roof, the floor strewn with mats in little groups around a stone cooking station where three women were working with practiced efficiency. The oldest of the three nodded to him and paused: “I haven’t seen those scars of yours in a while.”

Ganondorf grunted noncommittally but was suddenly, uncomfortably aware of his own skin. “I left my shirt back in my room.”

“Rough night?” she asked. “We were wondering. It’s almost noon. Link went to the field without you.”

“Ah,” as if this wasn’t news, as if he didn’t want to sit down and stare into nothing. Ganondorf turned a distant gaze to a large pot simmering over the central fire. Everything he remembered about his people’s cooking was right there, being prepared two impossible feet away from him. He forgot he was staring.

“Lord Ganondorf, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Jayanti.”

He knew her name—he knew all their names, as if he’d always been there. Jayanti squinted at him. “C’mere, then. You better take some of this.”

Ganondorf approached as she turned and poured a small cup of grayish-black liquid for him from the central island. It steamed as she handed it to him. “I thought you might need a pick-me-up once you woke.”

He took the cup gingerly in his giant hands and sipped it. A second later, the cup fell to the floor and smashed.

Ganondorf hastily grabbed all the clay pieces and dropped them all on the counter, muttering an apology. He avoided their eyes, turned, and stormed back the way he came.

It wasn’t real. His thundering steps carried him back to his room where he pulled on a beige linen shirt embroidered in turquoise and red at the sleeves, shoved his feet into his boots, and headed outside. He ran a quick hand through his wild, red mane just before he hit the front door. The sun’s heat smacked him in the face like a solid object.

He ignored everything that wasn’t the training grounds. He stomped up the incline to the practice field and caught sight of Ghirahim and Link going over advanced swordplay. The Hero was dressed in an overshirt similar to Ganondorf’s except that it was green. Yellow topaz graced his ears, an armband around his bicep, and in a choker at his throat. The kid was fast when he swept Ghirahim’s legs out from under him; the demon vanished in mid-fall and reappeared in a flash of diamonds behind him. Their swords met in the sizzling air between them.

It was Ghirahim who noticed Ganondorf first; the force on his scimitar slackened, allowing Link to shove him back, but noticing his opponent’s gaze, he followed it with his own. Both of them set down their weapons.

Ganondorf looked between them, disbelief and pride crossing his face. “It took me years to beat Ghirahim the first time.” _“You’re both here.”_

_“Of course we are, Master. Where else would we be?”_

_“I understand_ you _being here.”_ Ghirahim and Link stepped forward as Ganondorf reached out and clasped their arms with one hand each. The Demon King breathed in dust and tried to blink it out of his eyes.

_“You seem compromised.”_

Ganondorf took a steadying breath and glanced at the Hero’s new style. “I’m as surprised as you are,” Link admitted softly.

The Triforce of Courage glowed from his hand.

They dropped hands. So Ganondorf had a people again? Had he never betrayed them? What else was different? How was Link so…tan?

Link plucked at his shirt and showed his teeth when he smiled. “I think Rosalina may have put a word in. Someone thought I made a decent Gerudo.”

Ganondorf eyed him suspiciously. “Your eyes are still blue.”

“Adopted, Master,” Ghirahim threw in.

“By who?”

Link and Ghirahim glanced at each other.

_“Wait a minute,”_ Ganondorf scoffed internally.

“We’ve had a minute to sort through both sets of memories,” Link said to Ghirahim, “and it’s still weird for us. Give him a minute.”

Ganondorf and Link stood up to the sound of a horn blowing from the canyon river. “Someone’s coming,” Ghirahim announced, ending the conversation.

The three of them strode toward the mouth of the valley’s south trail as the rest of the fortress made like a kicked ant hill: weapons were grabbed, the desert gates were closed off, and valuables were hidden. Gerudo swarmed to the rooftops and to their horses. Ganondorf, flanked by Link and Ghirahim, simply waited at the trail with his massive arms crossed.

As if on queue, Hyrulean timing could not have been more unwelcome.

Zelda’s handservant Impa, the chieftess of the Sheikah tribe, held up a fist to halt her Hyrulean cavalry and gestured for her soldiers to keep their weapons lowered. “Ganondorf, King of the Desert!” she called. “I’d like a word.”

“King of the Desert,” Link noted under his breath. Ganondorf smirked and replied, “In no lifetime am I idle, no matter how the universe rearranges itself.” He stepped forward. “What is it, chieftess?”

Impa reached into one of her smaller saddlebags and produced a letter addressed in the princess’ hand. “Queen Zelda extends an invitation to both you and your son.” She pursed her lips as she held it out.

Ganondorf took it casually and ripped it open, throwing Link a sidelong look of interest. Son, eh? “To the Desert King, Ruler of the Gerudo and Demon Tribes in the West,” he arched a brow at Impa, cleared his throat, and continued with the rest of the letter:

“You and your son are hereby invited to a royal dinner styled in the New Order, where you will be accompanied by your fellow Relic Keepers to discuss the future of their safekeeping. Any attending weapons will be confiscated, and cordiality is compulsory. Any failure to show up will result in exclusion from future meetings. It will be held Din’s Day at sundown, Hyrule time. Zelda, Queen of Hyrule.”

Ganondorf looked up from reading it aloud and gave Impa the most scathing look. “Any attending weapons will be confiscated?”

Impa stared him down from her horse, “By request of the Salesman.”

He snorted and crumpled the invitation. “Tell your queen we’ll be there.”

Impa inclined her head in the barest nod of due respect and turned her horse around, making a circular sign above her head. The rest of the cavalry followed her back across the bridge.

Ganondorf waited until they were gone. The rest of the tribe retained their positions with bated breath until the last scout gave the signal for ‘all clear,’ then breathed a collective sigh and began to move again. Slowly but surely, the cordial efficiency of the Fortress returned.

Link and Ghirahim were waiting when Ganondorf returned to their side. “They’re _banning_ me?” Ghirahim asked indignantly.

Ganondorf scoffed. “They think they are. You are permitted everywhere I go.” Then he turned to Link. For a moment, neither of them said anything.

They had known each other in so many lifetimes, yet this was new. In the Old ‘Verse, he encountered him first as a ten-year old on a dark and stormy night. He encountered him before that in a castle. He encountered him in a sundered world. The narrative was the same: Ganondorf met a boy he underestimated, then came to begrudgingly respect on a level he did not intend.

What was the most strange was the overlapping memories, encountering a mother fleeing with her infant on a burning field. Amidst the smell of death, there was this.

“I know how we met in this life,” said Ganondorf finally.

Link met his eyes. “I remember other lives, and I remember growing up here. If it will break the fondness I have for this place, I don’t need to know.”

Ganondorf paused and looked him over. “Leave it that way.”

“So! Din’s Day, is it? She’s not giving us a long time to get ready,” interrupted Ghirahim.

Ganondorf and Link broke eye contact and turned toward the demon lord. “It makes sense she wants to get things settled as soon as possible,” said Link.

Ganondorf snorted. “Everything the queen does is for two reasons. I imagine some new Keepers are still caught off guard by all this, and she wants to have the most say in how it develops from here.”

“How many Keepers are there?” asked Link.

“Considering there’s three just for the Triforce? We’ll have a crowd,” answered Ghirahim. “So Master, what now?”

“For now, we get ready,” he told them. “Then in two days, we ride for Castle Town. Dress for a party.”


	16. After Images

#### Hyrule

Darhún and Epona had never been fitted with finer saddles; a hunting party had gone out days before the invitation to the party, and the skins brought back were quickly repurposed towards making the Desert King and his son as presentable to the outside world as possible. Along with the red, gold, and turquoise on the horses’ reins and painted along their flanks, Link himself was given ceremonial Gerudo attire and teardrop blue earrings. Ganondorf insisted he wear the _maeth_ , too:

‘Boys don’t go out to meet foreign nations. Men and women do,’ he’d told Link. ‘And no son of mine will be treated like a boy by any non-Gerudo.’

So there it was: the new gem in the middle of Link’s forehead matched his eyes in color, and the skin underneath it itched and he wasn’t allowed to scratch it. The feeling would go away in a few days, supposedly, and when they got back, there’d be a trial to ensure Link kept Gerudo tradition in becoming an adult.

Ganondorf was aware the Hero’s little twitches as he rode were the resistance to scratch his face, and Ganondorf couldn’t stop the ghostly smile that tugged on his own. It was funny to watch.

That smile faded as both desert men rode over the drawbridge to Castle Town. Soft thuds of dirt road became clacking, reinforced wood, drawing Link’s attention down toward the faces of peasants and traders parting from their way, grabbing their children or hugging their belongings a bit tighter. One man in Hyrulean rags glared up at him and muttered “thief,” as they passed; Link brought his eyes forward, and trotted as close to Ganondorf as dignity would allow.

The guard who inspected their invitation at the gate kept them waiting until a messenger came to take them directly to the castle.

The past few days in his new life left Link’s other memories as a pastel dream: the colors were there, and the familiarity of the city as he rode through it darkened a few more lines, but the overall painting was muted. Over that way was a place he knew, but he couldn’t tell you which place. Rosalina had left him and the other Keepers enough to recall what happened, but the further back their personal lives went from before the Treasures thing and the Subspace Fiasco, the cloudier it got.

If anything, it only broadened that feeling he used to have a long time ago of feeling out of place, only instead of being around a bunch of green-clad children, it was riding through a white-walled Castle Square in a crowd that hated his colors.

The messenger glanced back too many times at them until he left them with the guards at the palace steps. “They are Queen Zelda’s guests,” he told them. These guards, however, showed no sign of dislike or fear at the desert royalty. They merely waited while a stable hand showed up to take Darhún and Epona to the stables to be pampered.

Link and Ganondorf glanced at each other and started up the steps to the palace, only to be stopped once more as the guards opened the great double doors. Impa, in all her Sheikah fighting garb minus the giant blade, stared down at them with an unwelcome face.

“King Ganondorf, didn’t the queen explicitly request no weapons?”

The guards looked confused. Ganondorf chuckled and rested his hand on Ghirahim’s sheath. “This is my servant, Impa, and she said nothing about that.”

“He’s nothing but a weapon.”

“People have said worse things about me,” he countered coolly. “And, in case you weren’t fully aware already, I can conjure black fire from nothing and summon my trident from a pocket dimension at will. Would you like to see me do it?”

“Is that a threat?” Impa growled.

“Please,” Ganondorf scoffed, before Link straightened up next to him and bowed, “Impa, you protect the queen at all costs, with all of your life. You wouldn’t allow her to go alone anywhere if you could help it.” He raised his head and met her eyes. “Ghirahim and the king can’t be separated for the same reason. Royalty never travels alone.”

“See, Impa, I even taught the boy manners,” Ganondorf chimed in. “But he does have a point. Ghirahim is either at my side, silent, or out and about. Roaming. And talking.”

“And talking,” Impa agreed reluctantly.

“Do you see my point?” Ganondorf asked.

Impa’s upper lip curled in disgust. “Clearly. I’ll inform the queen.”

“Go do that,” Ganondorf called after her.

Link glanced at the guards, who still looked like they had no idea what was going on. One of them was scanning Ganondorf for the supposed weapon, not even pausing on the giant sword at the desert king’s hip. Link shook his head and followed Ganondorf into the palace.

“Do you have to do that? Charm them all not to notice him sitting there?”

“It’s less hassle,” Ganondorf replied mildly. “We get enough stares around here without everyone panicking that the Demon King has a _sword_.”

_“I thought I was a **servant** , Master.”_

“You’re both,” said Link and Ganondorf in unison, while Ganondorf added, “Keep the sarcasm low tonight.”

_“To be honest, Master, I don’t know how to do that.”_

_“It’s okay, Ghirahim. I thought I’d try, anyway.”_

His fingers continued to idly stroke the pommel as they passed into the great hall unattended. Link noticed Ghirahim quieted while Ganondorf did that, and together they accepted help from a pair of servants who directed them to rooms and baths upstairs, with directions to clean themselves up and follow a handmaiden that would be sent to show them to a conference room to discuss the business at hand. After that would be dinner, followed by sleep, and probably another two days worth of negotiating and over-complicated treaty drafts.

“This is going to be boring,” Ganondorf said factually as they were left in their guest apartments. A common lounge with windows, a reading nook and a wine cabinet gave way to two bedrooms and a bath. There was also a writing desk, and a coffee table loaded with cured meats, a cheese tray, and fruits for them to seize if they got hungry in their spare time.

Link exhaled slowly and turned in a circle to take it all in. “Have I ever been here?”

“Probably.” Ganondorf shrugged and took off his boots, setting them by the door and hanging up his cloak. “I’d say yes, but then the queen might’ve kept you somewhere closer than this floor.”

Link furrowed his eyebrows at the insinuation but didn’t press against it. “How do you remember so much more than I do?”

“Practice over lifetimes.” Ganondorf smiled, but it was wry and had little humor in it. “Besides, there are some details that are hazy, even for me. But I believe Rosalina asked us permission right before we woke up what all she could take away entirely. The rest is there, buried and locked, as if they were another incarnation’s.”

“Do normal people remember anything?” Link asked.

“Probably not.”

Link didn’t say what he thought next.

Ganondorf looked at him for a moment, then walked over and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Link, look at me,” he said quietly.

Link did. The golden eyes looking down at him had taught him how to ride, how to hold a sword. The first time he killed something on a hunt and brought it back, Ganondorf had the tribe celebrate. The time he’d gotten lost in the desert, the king had gone out to find him himself: Link was seven, and a sandstorm had him turned around and hiding under the only shelter he could find, the rotted shell of a peahat. The Demon King had scooped him up in one powerful arm and bore him back to town, furious at Mativa for letting him out alone. And yet, he knew there were things far less innocent in their mutual past, of fire and death, and the disjoint was alarming.

Ganondorf felt the boy tense and lessened the weight of his hand. “Link…we are Keepers. Of course we are alone. We are more real.”

Link’s throat tightened, and he blinked a few times. The air was pressing in on him, and infinity itself seemed to open its maw for a split second, like the Void that had come for them before.

“Link!”

Link shook under Ganondorf’s hand. “I saw oblivion. Nothing is real.” He worked his mouth for a moment, as the memories threatened to come back. Ganondorf grabbed both shoulders and gently shook him.

“Stop it. Feel my hands. Hear my voice. Remember the solid ground beneath your feet.” Ganondorf held Link’s gaze, firm but quiet. “You faced that oblivion head-on with me and embraced it, and you are still here. You and I are two of the most real beings in the universe, because we do not fade. Everything else is transient.” Link stopped shaking. “Listen, boy. I may not remember all the details of our last lives, but I remember why I reached out to you.

“It’s because you were the only being outside of myself that felt solid, who I didn’t despise. You are like me. It is partly because of Demise and partly because of Hylia that you exist the way you do. In a sense, you really are my son.”

Link took a breath, and then another. He felt the world sinking back into place, no longer a shadow. He felt Ganondorf’s hands. He remembered his feet. The walls looked like walls once again.

“Link, we are not like everyone else. We are different. We are better. We are Gerudo. We are eternal.” The hands lessened once again. “Are you focused?”

“Yes,” Link answered.

“Good.” Ganondorf pulled his hands away. “I’m taking a bath. Feel free to use it afterwards, but don’t stay in there for so long this time. We have work to do.”

“I zone out,” Link complained.

“I know.” Ganondorf went in and shut the door.

Link shed his cloak and scarf and flopped down on one of the couches, staring at the ceiling. So this was Hyrule Palace…it was even bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside. Granted, it was pretty impressive on the outside, so maybe it was unfathomable just trying to comprehend it from the ground…

Oh.

Link remembered his feet and gently stomped them on the rug. Solid. Everything would be okay, and he didn’t have to be alone. Here there were people from all over the Hubworlds and galaxies who used the Star Roads to travel to see each other. Maybe some of the Keepers here could stay in touch, even to where he was out in the desert. After all, Ganondorf and Rosalina were good friends, and a lot of the princesses got along. He didn’t…have to…be…

He heard a song, three descending notes sung by the redheaded ranch girl they’d bought Epona from. Her voice was like a river in a desert. She’d been so nice to the Gerudo when they came to talk thoroughbreds.

What was it like, living quietly? Not leaving a footprint anywhere you walked? Not knowing whether oblivion waited for you at the end? If you were real?

Was she real?

Ghirahim exited the bathroom and found the boy asleep on the couch, his mouth hanging open with his head leaned back. He walked over to Ganondorf’s cloak and draped it over him before walking away.

Link shivered. It felt so much colder in Hyrule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been forever since I posted! A lot has happened this past year--I moved, I got married, I started another job, I got promoted at said job, etc--so I'm glad I had some time to update at least ONE of my fics! Thank you, any of you, who have stuck it out this long. You don't know how much it means to me. I still have a few more ideas to get down, but once I'm done with this, I've certainly decided that a better draft of this is in order. Reading back over former chapters is cringe-worthy in places and makes me want to give y'all something better. But until then, I just have this. Please enjoy, throw me feedback, criticisms, praise, whatever--and know that I read everything eventually, even if I don't reply right away. Life gets in the way sometimes, but thank you so, so much for all your patience. With love, happy frickin' holidays, everyone!


	17. The Peacebreakers

#### Hyrule Castle

General Hare stood up on his chair and pointed at them. “What are _they_ doing here!”

Ganondorf and Link strode into the room in fresh clothes, as regal as any one of the other Keepers present. Ghirahim brought his own usual flare with his sense of dress, and he flanked the Demon King and the Hero on their left, smirking at the room with barely contained disdain from under his white, perfect hair.

Queen Zelda and her closest friends sat near her at the far end of the long table. Link recognized Peach and Palutena, Samus and Fox next to their highest-ranked superiors, Kirby, and handful of several others he either knew by name or reputation.

“General Hare, they are Keepers,” Zelda reminded him. It felt odd to see such indifference on the Hylian queen’s face.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Ganondorf chimed to Link and Ghirahim, loudly enough for the room to hear, “We didn’t even start this and it’s still my fault.”

“It’s partly mine, okay?” Peach announced guiltily. “I feel terrible.”

Luigi leaned over. “Let’s call it a collaborative effort.”

“Hello, King Ganondorf,” Rosalina said pleasantly. Her gaze was warm, and the chairs next to her left were empty. “And Prince Link of the Gerudo, there are some seats over here.”

Eyes followed the black sheep of the Keepers as they crossed the room and sat down. Ghirahim, in his role as servant, stood behind them in the same way Impa and Toadstool remained dutifully close to their masters.

The table was now full: Keepers and guardians from all over the multiverse sat around the long table with their hostess queen designating herself as the head. There was a small stack of documents in front of each occupied chair; neatly, by scribe, was the information they were about to talk about for the next few hours.

“As you all know, there have been a few massive changes to the way our worlds work,” Zelda began. “I want everyone here to take a look at the pages in front of you; they contain a short breakdown of our predicament: what Relics are, why they are important, and how they led to the near-destruction of all existence.”

“Wait, so these things are the core of every world?” asked a human boy in a horizontally-striped shirt and black hair. Link was introduced to him during the Subspace Fiasco. “How do we know when we see one?”

“They can be different for each planet,” Zelda explained, “but all of them hold a resonance of power. You’d know it if you touched one.”

“They all have some power of a cosmic force, Ness,” added Palutena. “They’ve been here since the dawn of that creation, and can usually affect either time, space, or reality. Many of them can be wished upon.”

Rosalina glanced at Ganondorf. “The Triforce is a quintessential example. Anything the holder wishes, the Relic grants.”

Zelda nodded. “Also realize that they usually have some form of residual sentience, since they are the remaining essence of the creator god of that world or planetary system. That’s why they can’t leave the creation’s boundaries—if you take away the source of the planet or realm, that place will die.”

“In scientific terms, it has to do with quantum vibrations.” The scientist speaking sat next to Samus and wore a distinct Federation uniform. He pushed up his glasses and spoke more directly at General Hare than to anyone else. “The ‘creative force’ as they understand it is the sub-atomic vibrational energy that sustains all matter.”

“You lost me,” griped Bowser, “and I’m getting bored while the scientists are talking. I have a planet to run. What’s the deal, Princess?”

“Queen,” Impa corrected automatically.

“Whatever.”

“I need everyone to find theirs,” said Zelda, “and catalogue it with the others. Keep it safe and hidden from the public, and from those trying to use it. Any use or misuse should be authorized by a council. _This_ council.”

This sent a ripple effect through the room. “You want us to show each other’s Relics?” proclaimed the League member, Lance. “We’ve already had them stolen once by someone on this very council. Now you’re telling us to find them and let everyone know where they are?”

Zelda stood up and set her palms flat against the table. “Everyone in this room knows that stealing a Relic is pointless outside of its own territory, and few of us belong to the same realm. The Apocalypse, however unwelcome and unpredicted, actually served a purpose: Rosalina has made sure that all of us are aware of our responsibility to the multiverse, and that no one is tethered anymore to past entangling grudges. Her goal was freedom, but with that freedom comes a new era—now not just she and a couple others know about them, but all of us do. Coming together cooperatively with this new information is the only way we can go forward from here.”

“I agree with Queen Zelda,” Palutena chimed. “After all, one goddess having all that power isn’t exactly fair. Even Olympus had democracy.”

“Uh…Olympus had Zeus,” muttered Pit. Palutena shot him a glare.

“I don’t like it,” General Hare protested. The Federation scientist nodded.

“No one’s asking you to hand them over,” Zelda said quickly. “But in the case of something happening to that realm’s Keeper or Keepers, there should be others able to rush to that world’s aid.”

“And who would that be?” a tall, built human asked loudly from the other end of the table.

Zelda opened her mouth to speak, but felt the presence of the Salesman stir next to her and glanced at him. “You have something to say?”

The Salesman laced his fingers under his nose and leaned forward in his chair. Link had barely noticed him; sitting quietly, he’d been practically invisible until the whole energy of the room changed to suit him, as if a great serpent had woken up. “Captain Falcon, or do you prefer Rick? You’re a detective; you’d be a primary candidate if you were willing for an idea we’ve been considering.”

“And that would be?”

“A task force, made up of Heroes, to assist beleaguered realms to ensure their protection.” His small eyes darted around to each Keeper in turn. “When the council hears that there is trouble, the realms can decide together to quell the issue, and send willing volunteer heroes to combat, say, another rise of Dr. Andross,” he flicked his eyes to General Hare, “or Nightmare,” he added in King Dedede’s direction. “In fact, no realm has to be alone ever again with its problems. We’re all connected, are we not?”

The room exchanged glances. They had been through the Subspace Fiasco, and now the Apocalypse together. Big threats were becoming more common—maybe it would be a good idea to pool their resources?

Ganondorf sat back with his arms crossed and said nothing. Link could see the wheels spinning in his head, but he wasn’t letting anything slip. All he could tell was that the Demon King didn’t like what he was hearing.

“Any objections to this overall idea?” the Salesman asked pointedly.

Link was getting a headache. When was the last time he felt this foggy? The last time he was running low on water, feeling the desert heat bake his brain into complacency, he rode back to camp only because stopping felt like just as much effort as continuing on.

Bowser said something in Koopa that someone was able to interpret as acquiescence. Others consented, but through the fog of tiredness Link felt a prickle on his right arm. Ganondorf, sitting on that side, glanced at Link and subtly waved his hand in a singular motion under the table. Almost immediately the fog cleared; Link sat up straighter and clenched the armrests, realizing what was happening.

The Salesman smiled and nodded to Zelda. The Queen continued. “This task force will be the representative arm of the Keepers. The candidates must be just, dutiful, and overall effective. I suggest you all submit your candidates through Lord Sheikah; he will be able to keep track of the information at this meeting and contact you all when we need to make new decisions.”

Ganondorf chuckled.

Slowly, all eyes turned to him.

“A task force? Really?” he asked, glancing at them all. “You fools will submit to the will of Queen Zelda and her Sheikah pet, because you’re angry we no longer follow strict patterns of fate?” The oppressive feeling in the room lifted, and Link noticed that the more mortal creatures seemed to come out of a daze, while gods like Lady Palutena and Princess Rosalina didn’t seem to have been affected in the first place. “Having just been granted free will to do as you please, you desire to be back under the influence of an over-arching force.”

“It’s _safe_ ,” replied Zelda evenly. “Lord Ganondorf, I don’t expect you to understand anything about others’ _safety_.”

“My gods, who let loose the morth balls?” Ghirahim said aloud. “They’re clingy, they see in only one direction and they’re so weak they don’t even deal damage.” 

“Get him out of here,” ordered the Federation scientist.

“Oh, I’m sorry; did my servant hit a little close to home?” Ganondorf smirked, glancing him up and down. “And what are you going to do about it? Can you even speak for the Federation when you decide to hand your jewels over to another body of government? My aunts had stronger spines than you, and they’re dead.”

“Your aunts are precisely the kind of people we want to keep away from the Relics,” Zelda snapped. “They were power-hungry and ruthless.”

“Take a look in the mirror, Queen of Hyrule.”

The oppressive force laid on more heavily than before as the Salesman’s aura blazed, only this time it was met against Ganondorf’s nonchalant retaliation. Those closest to the Demon King felt the two auras clash against one another, the Salesman’s held off as Ganondorf leaned back in his chair with his arms over his stomach.

“Something wrong?” he asked the Salesman.

“Just some grease we need to mop up,” the Salesman answered.

“Enough!” Zelda glared at Ganondorf. “If you can’t take cooperating with the rest of us, I suggest you take your kind and leave.”

Ganondorf scoffed. “My _kind_ ,” he laughed, which abruptly halted as his voice dropped to a growl. “We’re anything _but_. It only takes a few centuries to lose faith in a system that likes to exclude you.”

“I brought you an invitation personally,” argued Zelda.

“Your _servant_ brought me an invitation with an armed guard,” Ganondorf corrected her. “And even after I assisted returning the universe to existence, your grudge against the Gerudo holds. Those you have excluded will continue to be put upon. The status quo now has a united effort to quell any resistance to any of your problems. You all see this, and it didn’t even take Sheikah to coerce you to her side. It was just an added effort. The Federations, this United Keeper Task Force, they are the winning sides of a lopsided history. I don’t see it going well.”

“You pessimistic misanthrope,” said Zelda disbelievingly.

Lance glanced at Professor Oak and shook his head. “While I know the League would approve, I myself agree with King Ganondorf.”

“Ridiculous,” said General Hare. “He’s just mad he’ll have more to deal with the next time he tries to take Hyrule.”

“That too, but that’s really beside the point,” Ganondorf replied. “Grand task forces turn into secret police, spies, and assassins. They become shadow branches of government, led only by those at the top. While it’s inevitable that we have those on more local kingdom levels, it feels like a bad idea to give one to the Keepers of the Multiverse.”

“He’s got a point,” Samus and Rosalina agreed, but Fox and Palutena looked to Zelda. It seemed that most of the Keepers present were open to the idea of this task force, with few exceptions; Ganondorf made a mental note of who were more wary of the idea, realizing that such power under one command was a potential setup for catastrophe. Still, it wouldn’t be immediate—every reasonable idea starts out with good intentions, and it’s only over time that things begin to decay. The roster would change with the years, those on the council who were not immortal could be inclined to using their power against the other factions in their realm; this was, after all, a meeting of Keepers, all of whom had nationalities and loyalty to their individual groups, and did not necessarily encompass the entire multitude of species and factions that existed in every world. This was a small war room, not a stadium. The sheer amount of voices missing was staggering.

Ganondorf could not pretend that this wasn’t partly about himself, but he could plead to others’ sense of justice, if they listened to it. His argument wasn’t wrong, self-serving or not.

The meeting was interrupted by a hard knock on the door. “Come in,” Zelda called.

A Hylian in very regal servant attire bowed low as the doors were opened. “My lords and ladies, dinner is ready.”

“Very well.” The queen addressed the room. “We will reconvene after dinner for a short time for entertainment, then continue these issues tomorrow. Please enjoy yourselves.”

Link exhaled slowly, noticing Luigi doing the same on the opposite side of the table. Ghirahim and Link followed Ganondorf out of the room with the rest of the Keepers, relieving them of the awkward moment of being left with Queen Zelda face to face again with the Salesman.

 _“There’s scheming going on,”_ Ghirahim thought to both of them.

From Ganondorf: _“News flash: water is wet.”_

Something brushed against Link’s shoulder as they headed to the dining hall, and as he turned he noticed the dragon trainer Lance giving him a nod as he passed. “I like him,” Link muttered.

“Respectable taste, boy, but he’s a little old for you.”

Ganondorf didn’t even bother hiding a short guffaw at that one. Link’s ears turned red.

Dinner was served on silver plates with all the pomp usually reserved for Ghirahim’s introductions. Fruit-topped foccacia, savory tarts and cheeses began a multi-course feast, even enticing Ghirahim to sniff at the human food and deem it was probably worth watching people eat it. Link spared no thought into digging into everything he was offered, but Ganondorf ate little, thoughtfully moving things about his plate and rearranging the pieces as he saw fit.

Link glanced up from a mouthful of his second cucco leg and looked Ganondorf over. “You okay?”

“I ate in the room,” Ganondorf replied quietly, watching Link intently. Link swallowed nervously.

“Lords and Ladies, Ambassadors and Generals!” proclaimed a jester in a brightly colored suit. “Allow me to show you wonders of the multiverse like you’ve never seen!”

_“You know, Sheikah pet sounds like something that sprouts out of a pot when you water it.”_

“You’re not even trying to use words aloud anymore,” Ganondorf replied.

_“Why bother, when you can force people to hear you?”_

The act was decent; Link watched a hypnotized deku baba become harmless to the jester’s hand; juggling morths; catching fireballs blindfolded, and the guy was talkative—but it was hard to concentrate when Ghirahim was rattling off salt and commentary of his own, and the cold palace with warm food in his belly was making him sleepy.

The Salesman glanced over at Link from down the table. “Looks like someone has been riding too long today. He’s a little younger than I remember in his last incarnation. It’s probably bedtime.”

Link opened his mouth at the insult, then decided it didn’t matter. “I’ll see you upstairs,” he said to Ganondorf and Ghirahim. Ganondorf nodded. “It won’t be long.”

The talking continued as he got up and pushed in his chair. The lights felt too bright, for some reason. He guessed it _had_ been a long day, both with riding a long distance to Hyrule Castle Town and then sitting through the meeting. Ganondorf said something earlier about the others being told to come a day before them, and that’s why they all looked refreshed and ready for serious talk; it was obvious that the Salesman still held a grudge, but it was frustrating—Link knew he’d done the right thing. The future was going to be brighter.

Speaking of brighter, the only thing Link wanted to do was climb into a bed and sleep. Somewhere dark, if possible. These alchemical lights were too much.

His feet scuffed against the stairs as he climbed, his shoulders weighing heavier. Was he really this sleepy? If only he’d sit down for a minute, he’d feel better to navigate toward his room. This wall looked fine. Ah, that felt better. What were those footsteps?

Ganondorf had a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Ghirahim, go check on Link,” he whispered under his breath.

“Next, queens and heroes, I’ll give you something to clap for! It’s a disappearing trick I learned in lands far to the east!”

The table clapped for the jester, and the Salesman seemed pleased with himself next to a politely interested queen Zelda. Ganondorf felt his stomach tighten as he glanced down at his uneaten food.

Something smelled rotten in the state of Hyrule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better late than never! (Super late; please forgive me.) I have not abandoned this fic. This story gives me great joy to write and share, and it provides an opportunity for me to hone my writing skills. So! With that said, let me know what you think! Whether this chapter was good or mediocre, I want to hear about it! I've missed writing (and writing for the joy of others makes me happy like you wouldn't believe), and I read all the comments. I swear I'm trying to keep character interpretations as reasonably close to canon as possible, though I do know that I step outside the box sometimes. I hope that in particular isn't too bothersome. Next chapter should be coming much sooner than this one did; I already have an idea of the next steps. Anyway, thank you all for sticking it out with me so long, and I'll see you next time!


	18. Unerring Intuition

#### Hyrule Dungeon

Link came to as water splashed against his face, soaking his clothes.

He noticed the cold—biting, chilling down to his bones, and hostile to a desert dweller like himself—and he sputtered and gasped as it raked across his lungs in deep gasps of air.

Also, his hands were tied behind him to a chair. Great.

Least importantly, but still unnervingly, was the dark. He assumed he was somewhere under Hyrule Castle; the dungeons, maybe. It would make sense if Ganondorf hadn’t found him yet. He couldn’t imagine the Desert King allowing anyone to make off with one of his own without his consent, and he _knew_ Ganondorf hadn’t consented _this_.

What was going on? Had he really been drugged?

“Good evening, Link.”

Link tugged his wrists and scratched at the ropes digging into his skin, panic seizing his throat. Out from the shadows of the dungeon, the Salesman’s white teeth and rounded cheeks protruded, followed by the rest of him. How did he seem so big in this space? is what Link wanted to know. He seemed like a massive spider over a freshly caught fly. An existential dread weighed Link down into his chair. He stared at the Salesman and jerked harder at his own wrists.

“Don’t bother, little hero,” came the Salesman’s high tenor in an echo around the damp dungeon. “I have you nice and tight.”

“Why are you doing this?” Link demanded. Despite the danger, Link felt a flash of defiance and indignation. “Queen Zelda wouldn’t authorize this.”

“Correct! But she doesn’t know you’re here.” The Salesman slunk closer, tapping his jaw. “What she desires is the end of the Demon King, and I will do this by any means necessary.”

Link growled in imitation of his adopted father. Ganondorf might’ve been proud, had it sounded at all menacing.

“Oh ho ho! Did the new memories give you fondness for him?” asked the Salesman, ever smiling. “Traitor.”

Link glanced around for something to break him off of this chair. The room was largely blank, but maybe he could stall time long enough for someone to find him. It wasn’t his strength, but, “What are you even trying to accomplish?”

The Salesman smirked. “My, my, trying to get me to monologue? It won’t work,” as he continued to monologue, “but the goddess deserves better than to exist in a timeline with a traitorous hero.”

“I did what was right,” Link growled.

“You did what Ganondorf wanted, child. So since neither of you want to back down, I decided to make him an offer he can’t refuse. Not if he wants to keep you on his side, instead of risking your incarnation back to us.”

Link blinked at him.

“The task force,” prompted the Salesman. “Surely you get it now.”

Link shook his head.

The Salesman sighed. “I’ve poisoned you, boy, and now you’re bait so I can make Demise and his flunkies our controlled task force.”

Link blinked once, slowly.

“What, Hero?”

“That is the worst plan,” Link admitted. “I expect this out of Bowser.”

The Salesman’s eyes flashed, and he suddenly drew the Sad Mask from his pack. “Do you know what this can do to you?” he asked casually.

Link averted his eyes.

“What about this one?” The Salesman let the mask go and it floated into the air by his head, while the Salesman reached for a second one. Link threw a furtive glance its way.

It looked like a red eye between two hands, and the whole thing shimmered in dark, translucent colors. The Salesman smiled. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked. “I call it ‘The Interloper’. No doubt Demise would recognize this one. It was his servant at one point, a traitor to the throne and to me in Hyrule’s Civil War.”

Link didn’t miss the personal scathing in the Salesman’s tone. The image brought back the same feeling of damp cold he felt now; of shivering and death. Link licked his lips, trying to summon some moisture in his mouth. It felt too dry. “What’s his power?”

“Power? This is nothing but an angry poltergeist with a bit of telekinetic ability, after we cut off his hands.” He smirked at Link. “By the Hyrule King’s orders, the traitor’s body was hung upside down so the blood would drain out like a pig. Before then, he was a Sheikah, and a fairly powerful wizard. But I would sooner see one of my own executed and thrown into a well than for Demise to have one hand on their conscience.”

Link tried to sit still. Regardless of Zelda’s knowledge or consent, the Salesman was doing what he pleased, aligned only with whatever he believed was best for the goddess. If only Link could escape and convince Zelda that the Salesman was doing more harm than good, she would somehow force him to stop.

“Bongo Bongo,” Link heard himself whisper. His wrists felt raw from the ropes rubbing into him. Records of his execution could be found deep within the Castle library just upstairs from where Link was imprisoned. He would figure out how to get out of here; then he would warn Ganondorf, and they could tell the other Keepers about the terrible things the Salesman had done.

As the Salesman released the second mask into the air beside the first, he withdrew a third—to which Link needed no explanation. The face of Gohma or something like her stared mutely from her clay prison.

“I’m going to lead Demise down here,” the Salesman explained, “and I’m going to take him, and Ghirahim, and the rest of your little Team Villain, and I will make you all useful members of society.” He settled the Gohma mask firmly onto his face. Long, spindly spider legs grew joint by joint from his back, and his body raised off the ground, crawling sideways onto the wall, then upside down on the ceiling. The Salesman then spat at Link’s face, and a web covered his mouth to prevent him from calling for help.

“Get comfortable, Hero. You’ll see your Demise soon enough.”

…

“Zelda!” Ganondorf barked. Heads turned; Impa reached for her naginata, before Ganondorf flicked it away with a gesture at the air. His eyes were lit by an intense fire. Impa’s sword clattered to the ground as the room went deathly silent. “Tell me where Sheikah is.”

The queen looked confused for about two seconds before it dawned on her. “The Salesman?”

“Tell me where he is!”

Mario, Ike, and Fox watched Ganondorf from their circle in the corner. Two of them tensed for action, while Mario simply strode up to put a stop to it.

“You don’t-a talk to Queen Zelda that way!”

Ganondorf whirled around and roared in Mario’s face. Mushroom Kingdom’s handyman stopped as the wind from it blew the hat off his head. The Desert King’s fingernails were claws, and his eyes were darkening yellow in the great hall.

General Pepper began to sputter something to Falco and Fox, but Samus brought a hand to his shoulder and shook her head.

Ganondorf turned back to Zelda and growled. “Link is missing.”

Instead of arguing, Zelda looked confused.

“Sheikah,” Ganon repeated. “Where is he.”

The queen glanced at her palace guards. “Find him,” she ordered. “Check the underground.”

Ganon lumbered closer. “You brought us here to fake equality,” he said, his voice rolling like the barely contained rage of a lion. His footsteps fell heavily on the pristine Hylian stone, “but Gerudo are no fools. I know why you called the meeting so soon after the Apocalypse.” His teeth looked sharper in the magickal torchlight on the walls. “To keep everyone off balance but yourself, you insist on sorting this quickly.”

Mario retrieved his hat and plunked it back down on his head. “Queen Zelda is our friend,” he countered. “She lives to protect her people. Luigi and I know what that’s like. But you,” and at this, he pointed at Ganon, “think only of yourself! Why should we be worried about her motives when she has to defend Hyrule from you?”

“Mario,” said a gentle voice from behind Zelda. It was Rosalina. “That’s enough.”

Ganondorf followed Rosalina’s steps as she came forward. “Ganondorf, you are not alone,” she said. “We are all free now.”

“And what was the point?” demanded Palutena. “Did you want Hades to win? Or Eggman? Or Ganon? Didn’t they do this to themselves? You should have told someone else about the Relics! You made the choice without asking anyone else what they wanted! You assumed to act in our best interest by giving our enemies an equal playing field!”

“Because there’s no point in this!” cried Rosalina. “The Creators may have rigged our worlds to be this way, but destructive cycles will continue forever if I hadn’t done something!”

“You didn’t have to do anything!” Palutena snapped back.

“All of you stop it,” said Lance, leaning against the door. He gestured at Ganondorf. “He’s about to pounce Lady Palutena if this keeps going. He’s trying to find his son. Let’s just find him.” He turned on his heel and left the hall, cape swinging widely behind him.

Rosalina took a few more steps and brushed her fingers through Ganondorf’s mane. “Let’s go look for him,” she suggested.

Ganon blinked his eyes, and the whites returned. The miasma creeping out from his body dissipated, and he resumed his normal form. Most of the room averted his sweeping glance, and he stormed out of the hall, jerking out of Rosalina’s reach and banging the fifteen-foot high, solid oak double doors behind him as he and Ghirahim left.

Queen Zelda exhaled.

“All right, we need to split up and search the grounds,” she commanded. “Fox and I will take downstairs, and Impa will manage the rest of you into teams. Please notify her as soon as you can if you find anything.”

“Ganon’s too dangerous to be left unchecked,” General Pepper admitted, ambling over to Zelda. “We do need to check him.”

“I’m aware,” she replied coolly.

“Why did you invite him?”

“Not for the reasons he accuses,” she replied. “Of course I don’t trust him, but I also don’t want to assume Rosalina acted in bad judgment. We must be fair in including him, for all our futures.”

“Keep your friends close, and enemies closer?”

“Something like that.”

General Pepper clasped his hands behind his back in military ease. “It’ll turn into another incident like Andross.”

Before Zelda could reply, Fox approached and bowed. “My lady.”

“Let’s go,” she said, before glancing at Pepper. “That’s my fear.”

…

Link swam in his own memories as he heard the first footfalls in the underground echo off the walls. He didn’t feel different, he decided, even after the Salesman mentioned that he’d poisoned him. Was he telling the truth?

This was dumb. Ganondorf wouldn’t bow, even if Link and Ghirahim were in danger. He’d been willing to risk his own life for his goals, and if this time that goal was freedom, then not even Link’s life was worth giving it back up. Sheikah only thought he could get to him, but he had a rude awakening in store. Even more, Zelda would be unhappy, too.

Link’s head lolled onto his chest as voices rang out in the dungeons. “Link? Link!”

He groaned. The webbing was still intact, and wasn’t showing signs of dissolving anytime soon. His wrists ached.

“Link!”

Link wearily picked up his head and made a muffled call for help. The voice stopped, then said, “Dragonite, can you sniff him out?”

The cell door was yanked off its hinges and cast effortlessly aside. Dragon Trainer Lance nodded at his pokemon in approval. “Good job.” Dragonite stooped its head and stomped on in.

Lance knelt by Link’s chair and gently patted his face a few times. “Hey kid, wake up.” He glanced around the room and noticed the Salesman clinging to the back corner of the ceiling. He slowly stood up. “Salesman, I’m rescuing your hostage.”

“No.” The Salesman’s voice took on an odd, clicking quality. Lance assumed it was the spider mask. “I need Demise to come for the Hero.”

“Well, he’s busy fighting everyone upstairs, since you took his kid.” Lance pulled a knife from his belt and cut open the ropes tying Link to the chair. “The only thing you’ve done is made everyone angry at both of you.”

The Salesman hissed and spat web at Lance. Dragonite stepped between them and spat fire right back. The web sizzled out in midair.

“You can’t!”

Lance helped Link stand. “Can you walk?” he asked. Link nodded. They both ran for the door, Dragonite covering the rear. The Salesman pounced from the far corner, all eight legs pushing off against the wall.

Fire singed Link’s boots as he and Lance made a sharp turn away from the cell, flames belching out of Dragonite’s mouth toward the Salesman. High, unearthly shrieks followed him.

“Do you think that’ll stop him?” Lance panted. Link shook his head and kept running.

The two men took a corner and bolted up a flight of stairs two and three steps at a time. “Queen Zelda!” Lance called. “I found him!”

Link saw the shadow at the top of the stairs move and threw Lance aside, thinking it was a mask. Zelda came into view a moment later. “Link!” she cried, relieved.

Lance picked himself off the wall and threw Link a pained glance as he rubbed his arm. “Queen Zelda, the Salesman’s baiting Ganondorf. He had Link captive in the dungeon.”

Zelda swept past them both as Dragonite came flying up the staircase. Everyone flattened themselves against the walls as he passed, then Zelda stood and braced herself for the incoming Salesman.

Sheikah himself paused his climb mid-spider step as he came face to face with Zelda, who stared him down furiously. The spider legs kept him braced between the two walls, dangling before them while taking up the whole way downward. “Goddess…”

“Salesman, cease this.”

Link could see the frustration in Sheikah’s face, the absolute loathing he harbored that brought him to this point. The mask distorted his features, but his eyes were the same. “Please. Let me take care of the demon threat.”

“He’s only currently being a threat because we keep threatening him,” Zelda replied.

One of the Salesman’s spider legs twitched. The rest of him stayed braced for action. “Surely you don’t believe that.”

Link saw Zelda hesitate. She wanted to be on Sheikah’s side, but she couldn’t condone this. She clasped her hands before her and stared hard at him. “Rosalina admitted her deeds to the Keepers. All of this was her doing, not his.”

“And so we forget about the rest? How he locked you into fragile human life away from the comforts of home? How he decimated Hyrule over and over and _over again_! How he wastes the goddess’ last gift to us! How petty and manipulative and cyclical his behavior is?” The Salesman turned his fury on Link. “He even took away your champion!”

“I know,” Zelda answered. “Trust me, Salesman, I know. I can see my other lifetimes as daydreams and visions. I’ve seen other futures that didn’t come to pass here. I know how bad he can get.”

“Then _why_ , Goddess?”

“Because Link and Rosalina think they can get to him.” Zelda’s shoulders drooped, her gaze tired but unwavering against the god of deception hovering above her. “We can give him _one_ last chance, where everyone can see him for what he decides. I don’t want to be the obstacle that prevents the cycle ever ending. If there _is_ an end, and if you and I can go back home someday, _this is it_.” She held out her hand to him. “Please. Come down from there.”

Link watched the spider’s legs lower the Salesman to the stairs below Zelda. He saw Salesman’s gaze flicker to Zelda’s outstretched hand, then meet her eyes. A girl Link knew had that look on her face once. He hadn’t even thought of that possibility before now.

Lance jerked his head for Link to follow him. “Let’s get you back upstairs,” he muttered. “The big guy might kill someone if you don’t show up soon.”

Link glanced back, but the curvature of the staircase prevented him from seeing anything. He wobbled and leaned his hand against the banister for support. Lance glanced at him in concern. “You okay?”

Link didn’t answer before he had to sit down against the wall. He nodded, rubbing his head. His wrists still hurt. Lance helped him back up, and together they walked out of the dungeon, Dragonite meeting them at the end of the hall.


End file.
